


So Falls the World

by skywarrior108



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 88,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywarrior108/pseuds/skywarrior108
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/uber. Quinn is a gladiator fighting in the Roman Colosseum. Rachel is the daughter of a General and a Senator. When their worlds collide, everything changes in a way neither of them ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I toyed with making this a full-on uber fic and changing everyone's names completely, but I realized it wasn't necessary. As a result, I've only changed certain characters' names or only parts of their names. There are no OCs—everyone who appears in this fic has appeared on _Glee_. It should be clear from the context who is who, but just in case, the following characters are making their debut or are mentioned in this first chapter: Silvanus = Sue Sylvester | Hostus Salonius Ramirus = Sandy Ryerson | Hadrian = Hank Saunders | Quinn = Quinn Fabray | Emperor Gaius Julius Sejanus = Jesse St. James | King Ruaidhri = Russell Fabray
> 
> There is also a master list of all the characters and their _Glee_ counterparts in case you need to reference it: <http://skywarrior108.tumblr.com/SFtW_CharacterList>. I update this every time a new character is introduced.
> 
> Also, I've taken a page out of _Xena: Warrior Princess_ 's book in that this isn't historically accurate. It's close enough, but I've taken liberties where needed. I just thought I would give you a heads up about that in case you're a stickler for that sort of thing.
> 
> And last but not least, thanks to counterpunches for giving me the title to the fic, and, in the process, inspiring the rest of the story that I had yet to figure out completely. :)

The salty air of the Mediterranean fills Lanista Silvanus's lungs as she walks though the streets of Massilia. Her lips curve up into a smug smile at the thought of what might await her in the market today. Hostus Salonius Ramirus's latest shipment of slaves arrived just this morning—spoils of war from Emperor Sejanus's conquest in Gaul—and he apparently has something very special for her.

She arrives at the forum, seeing that the public slave auction is in full swing. Hundreds of men stand on a revolving platform, bare save for their shackles and the placards hanging around their necks. She doesn't even need to read them to know what they say. They are all prisoners of war, and unless they're severely injured, they are strong and capable men. Silvanus guesses most of them will be put to the task of hard, manual labor, as she doubts any of them have a formal education.

But they are not why she is there. These men hold no interest to her. What she is in need of is much less common and certainly will not be out on public display. Her blue eyes seek out the private shop belonging to Salonius. It's been awhile since her last visit, so it takes a moment to find it, but when she does, she makes a beeline toward it—grateful to leave the chaos of the forum.

A pair of young men are there to greet her when she arrives. They lead her into the main room, where a table is laid out with a spread of fruit, cheese, and wine, along with a few couches.

"Salonius will be with you shortly," one of the men—Hadrian, she thinks his name is—informs her. "He's busy preparing the slave for you in one of the back rooms. In the meantime, help yourself to anything you wish."

She peruses the spread, selects a few grapes, and pops them in her mouth. Despite her general dislike of having to haggle with slave traders, she has to admit that she at least enjoys the perks that come with doing business with Salonius.

Now, if only he didn't make her wait so long.

"Silvanus!" a short, balding middle-aged man with beady eyes greets her with a smile as he emerges from one of the back rooms.

"Salonius," she replies, nodding her head slightly in his direction.

"It's wonderful to see you. How was your trip from Genua?"

"It was pleasant enough. I'll be on my way back as soon as this sale is done—assuming you actually have something I want," she says, preferring to get right to business. She's already wasted enough time waiting for him, so she would rather avoid wasting even more time with pointless small talk. "What do you have for me today?"

His eyes light up, and he hands her a placard as he begins to describe the prize from the latest batch of prisoners of war. "Exactly the kind of girl you're looking for. A real warrior princess."

She looks at him incredulously, sure that it's just a tactic to drive up the selling price.

"Her father is—or should I say _was_ —King Ruaidhri. And let me tell you—this girl can fight. It took nearly twenty centurions to bring her down."

Now that's certainly intriguing—assuming he's telling the truth. "How did she escape crucifixion?" she asks, knowing full well what happened to the rest of the Ruaidhri clan.

"I suppose Sejanus was feeling generous. And looking to make a profit."

"That doesn't surprise me," she says, finally looking down at the placard in her hands.

She sees that the slave's name is Quinn, originating from the Gallic tribe of Arverni, is 16 years of age, is skilled with a short sword, and is supposedly in good health. There is nothing about her level of intelligence, but there is a mention of a bad temper.

"Can she at least speak Latin?" she asks, hoping that perhaps her higher station in her homeland afforded her some level of education. The language barrier is bad enough with some of her other slaves, but she knows enough Gaulish to get by if needed.

"She understands it," he affirms. "If she speaks it, I wouldn't know. She's hardly said a word since her capture. Although, she has other ways of showing her displeasure."

"Show her to me," she says, knowing that placards contain the barest of information and are not always accurate. Of course, Salonius knows better than to outright lie to her, but at the end of the day, he's still a slave trader, and therefore, not to be completely trusted. She has to see with her own eyes if what he claims is true.

"Right this way." Salonius leads her to the back room of his shop—where all of his private sales take place—and pulls aside the curtain, revealing the Gaul. Her skin is fair, and her long, blond hair has been braided and pulled back from her face. But the thing that immediately captures Silvanus's attention is the slave's eyes—deep hazel filled with an intense fire—and the glare directed at her. This girl obviously detests her, and Silvanus is reminded of the Amazons she has back at her ludus in Genua.

She smirks, excited for the possible challenge of getting this girl to submit to her. But only if everything checks out.

Silvanus begins to walk in a slow circle around the girl, appraising her carefully.

As is customary during all slave sales, the Gaul is completely naked—save for the shackles that are fastened tightly to her wrists and ankles, both of which are chained to the floor so as to prevent the girl's escape. Her left foot is covered in chalk, indicating her status as a fresh slave.

There's a barely-healed six-inch gash on her left thigh, faint bruises on both sides of her ribcage, and several lashes on her back from a whip, but otherwise she appears to be in good health. Her muscles are strong and developed, and her proud stance indicates that of a warrior.

"Open your mouth," she orders as she stands in front of the slave again.

The girl only glares at her.

Silvanus has little patience for this kind of disobedience, and so she tightly grips the girl's chin—pressing her thumb painfully into the indentation below her lower lip. She can see a flash of pain in hazel eyes and feels a rush of triumph. "Open your mouth," she repeats.

This time the Gaul obeys, but Silvanus does not relinquish her hold.

She inspects her mouth, making sure there is nothing that appears amiss, before nodding her head. "You can close it," she says, brusquely releasing the slave's face. The girl snaps her mouth shut, practically snarling at Silvanus. She looks down at her amusedly, not at all intimidated by this Gaul. "You seem healthy enough, but let's see if you can actually fight."

That gets a reaction. The slave tenses and shouts something in Gaulish. Silvanus's grasp on the language is rusty, but she's fairly certain the girl just said that she'd gladly like to see her filthy Roman body at the end of her sword.

Her amused smile grows. If she does end up buying this girl, she's going to enjoy punishing her for her insolence.

"Would you like Hadrian to demonstrate?" Salonius asks, oblivious to the insult just hurled at her.

"No, I'll do it myself," Silvanus says, wanting to put this slave in her place.

The slave trader wordlessly hands her a pair of wooden swords. Despite being for sparring purposes only, in Silvanus's hands, they are still deadly weapons.

Salonius then releases the chains connected to the slave's wrists but leaves her ankles securely fastened—unwilling to risk her trying to run off. This clearly displeases the Gaul, but if this girl is truly a warrior princess, Silvanus has no doubt that she'll still be able to show what she can do—shackles or no.

Once Salonius is out of range, Silvanus tosses one of the wooden swords towards the girl, who easily catches its handle with her right hand. The Gaul has to modify her stance due to her limited mobility, but Silvanus recognizes it as one that is strong.

She starts with a quick series of thrusts with her sword, all of which the slave easily parries. Her jaw is set, and her hazel eyes are filled with fiery determination. Silvanus smiles internally before intensifying her assault, sweeping her arm down and causing the Gaul to lift her arm up to block each attack.

Silvanus begins to mix up her attacks—alternating between thrusts and sweeping arcs—as she moves around the Gaul. Her defense is tight, and Silvanus can see how the girl tracks her every move with her eyes and counters without fail with her sword. But she's at a disadvantage since she is unable to move her feet, and therefore unable to launch any real sort of offensive attack.

Even so, Silvanus can see what this girl is capable of, and she's glad that she is chained to the floor, because while she has no doubt that she would ultimately be victorious in a fair fight against the Gaul, it would be challenging to say the least.

And right now, she has bigger fish to fry.

Taking advantage of being the one on the offensive and the fact that her opponent is severely limited in her mobility, Silvanus decides to up the ante and quickly flicks her wrist, managing to catch the slave's hand with the flat of her sword's blade. The girl's grip slackens slightly, and Silvanus moves quickly, hitting a point in her opponent's sword that she knows will send an uncomfortable vibration up into her hand—further weakening her hold on the weapon—before slicing down on the Gaul's wrist.

The girl releases a pained hiss as the weapon clatters to the ground. She immediately goes to reach for it, but Silvanus juts the blunt tip of her sword into the girl's chest—hard—forcing her back and knocking the wind out of her. She staggers slightly, but manages to stay upright.

"Not bad," she murmurs, stepping closer to the Gaul, who is still gasping for breath through clenched teeth, her expression of hatred never wavering. "But you're still going to need a lot of work," she adds with a self-satisfied smirk. With a swiftness the girl can't anticipate, Silvanus moves behind her and smashes the hilt of her weapon against the back of her skull—rendering her unconscious and causing her to crumple to the ground at Silvanus's feet in a heap.

"How much?" she asks, turning to look at Salonius.

"30,000 dinarii," he says without hesitation.

Silvanus laughs. "You've got to be kidding. At most she's worth 15,000."

"You're not exactly in a position to bargain, you know," he replies, his tone still pleasant. "You're the only one who desires her services. I can easily sell her to a brothel, you know."

"Like any one of those owners would be able to handle her," she derides. "The only reason I was able to take her down so easily is because I'm descended from Spartans."

He falters, obviously knowing that she's right about that fact. "Fine. 25,000."

"20,000 dinarii," she shoots back. "And that's my final offer."

"Sold."

She smirks internally. The girl is easily worth 40,000 dinarii. No doubt she'll pay for herself in less than a month in the arena.

Silvanus heads back into the main room with Salonius on her heels. She takes out pieces of silver from her pouch and begins to instruct him as she places the money before him on a small desk. "My ship back to Genua leaves in two candlemarks. I expect her to be ready to go by then."

"Of course. Hadrian will prepare her and bring her to you."

"Good," she says, counting out the remaining amount owed before looking back up at the man. "Pleasure doing business with you."

And with that, she turns on her heels—knowing she is that much closer to achieving glory and infamy in the Colosseum.

Her gladiatrices will be the greatest thing the Games have ever seen, and with any luck, this Gaul will be the one leading the charge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people wanted to know if this story was at all influenced by _Spartacus: Blood and Sand_. It is not. Any similarities to the show are purely coincidental, as I have never seen it before. This story comes from my own imagination with a bit of internet research and inspiration from _Gladiator_.
> 
> Characters making their first appearance in this chapter are: Bestia = Shannon Bieste | Saoirse = Santana Lopez

Quinn groans as she gradually regains consciousness. Her right hip and shoulder are digging uncomfortably into the cold, hard ground beneath her, and she shifts slightly to alleviate the pressure as she tries to open her eyes. Without warning, pain shoots through her skull, and she immediately shuts her eyes against the world and instinctively reaches for her head, only to find that her wrists are bound behind her back and shackled to the floor—impeding her movement completely.

Right.

She is a prisoner now. A _slave_.

A fresh wave of anger courses through her at the reminder, but it is quickly squashed as her body lurches forward on the cold, hard floor and a wave of nausea rises up in her. She realizes then that she's on a ship, and judging by the lack of light filtering through her eyelids, she's probably in its brig.

Trying to stave off the sick feeling in her stomach, she focuses on her breathing. After several minutes of doing so, the nausea finally passes. But the throbbing in her head does not.

Immediately, she is reminded of its cause. She remembers that woman—that awful, Roman woman who she can only assume purchased her. Quinn thinks she could have blocked the blow that rendered her unconscious. She _should_ have blocked it. But for some reason, she could not move her limbs fast enough.

Just like she couldn't move her limbs fast enough to fight off the centurions. Couldn't move fast enough to stop them from-

Letting out a harsh breath, she stops that train of thought.

Knowing that trying to open her eyes again will only intensify the pain in her head, Quinn opts to keep them closed and take a mental inventory of her body. To her relief, she is no longer naked. What she is wearing isn't much—only the simple tunic she has become familiar with in her weeks in captivity—but it's better than being on display like she was back in that shop. She had never felt less like a human being in her life.

For the hundredth time since her enslavement, she wishes she was back home—eating her mother's lamb stew after a long day of training under her father's watchful eye, and seeing the look of pride in pale blue eyes. He had such high hopes for her, and now…

Now there is no longer a home to go back to, and her family is dead and gone.

Unbidden, images of her father and mother, cousin and uncle strung up on crosses lining the road to Massilia flood her mind. She clenches her teeth, trying to stop the angry tears that fall at the memory to no avail.

She should have died along with them, but for some reason, the emperor decided to spare her life. It wasn't an act of mercy—that much she knows. No, it was yet another act of cruelty in a long line of many.

Her father used to tell her that their family was blessed by the war goddess Brigindo, but right now, trapped in the darkness of an enemy ship, reduced to a life of slavery, Quinn's not so sure she ever existed in the first place.

* * *

The barracks in Silvanus's ludus are a slight upgrade from the holding cells Quinn has been kept in since her enslavement, and although she is still shackled, for once she isn't chained to something. The cell she has been put in is actually big enough for her to lie down in, and there is a thin, straw mat for her to sleep on. But it pales in comparison to her room back in Arverni.

Her fists clench in her lap, and again, she tries to remind herself that it's useless to think about the way things were, because they will never be that way again.

That means she has to focus on the now, whatever that may be, which is still very much unclear to her. After being forcibly brought to her current location from the ship's brig earlier that morning—as she refuses to make anything easy for a Roman, especially one who thinks they own her—Quinn hasn't seen a soul. All the other cells are empty, but it's clear they're being lived in.

Needless to say, she's growing restless. She thinks maybe these moments of respite should be treasured, but she's too on edge for that. She doesn't know what Silvanus intends to do with her, and the enclosed quarters don't do much for her peace of mind.

The sound of heavy footfalls captures Quinn's attention, and she looks up to see a stocky woman with short, curly brown hair—dressed in a brown tunic similar to her own—walking toward her. Instinctively, Quinn rises to her feet, anticipating a confrontation.

The woman comes to a halt outside her cell and peers at her through the bars. Quinn can't help but size her up, and she has to admit, this woman looks imposing. She has to assume that she is a threat, just like everyone else in this goddess-forsaken Empire.

But the thing that confuses Quinn is her eyes—bright blue that gaze upon her with something akin to respect.

"I'm Bestia," the woman finally says in a Latin accent Quinn has never heard before. It doesn't sound Roman at all, and she wonders where this woman is from. "I'll be the one training you. Although, seeing as you're a Gaul, my guess is you'll get the hang of this quickly."

Quinn blinks in confusion and stares at her questioningly.

Bestia's lips curve up into a half smile. "Gladiators fight in the style of your people."

 _Gladiators?_ Quinn doesn't respond with words, but she's sure her puzzlement shows.

Bestia shakes her head ruefully. "Silvanus—the woman who purchased you—she's a lanista," she explains, taking a key from her belt and inserting it into the lock on her cell door. "You're to fight in the Games. And it's my job to make sure you're ready."

"I will never serve a Roman," Quinn says in rough Latin, disdain dripping from her tongue.

"You don't exactly have a choice, kid," Bestia replies, stopping short of actually unlocking the door. She looks at Quinn intently. "I get what it's like to have pride, but you better channel it into your job, otherwise Silvanus will make things extremely unpleasant for you."

Quinn's eyes narrow, and her jaw tightens in anger at her current situation. Then to Quinn's embarrassment, her stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly.

Bestia looks at her sympathetically. "When's the last time you ate, kid?"

It's been over a day since she ate anything—and then it was only stale bread—but her mind gets stuck on the last part of Bestia's question. "Quinn," she corrects her. "My name is Quinn."

Bestia smiles. "Well, Quinn, how about we get you something to eat, and then we'll run through some drills with the other girls to see exactly what you can do."

Quinn nods, deciding that she'll at least cooperate long enough to get some food and regain some of her strength, and hopefully get out these shackles.

* * *

After eating a meal of hot barley and dried fruit, Quinn is led by Bestia to the training ground—an ellipsoidal arena two stories high and 300 feet wide—where Silvanus is waiting for her. The tall blonde is wearing leather boots and a deep crimson-colored tunic covered by a bronze plate of armor—the metal engraved with some kind of beast Quinn has never seen before. Her appearance is in stark contrast to the girls standing in single-line formation off to the side—all six are wearing sandals and light blue tunics with no armor whatsoever, although Quinn can tell from the way they carry themselves that they are fighters like her.

The disparity between the lanista and her slaves is apparent, and it's clear to Quinn that this woman enjoys reminding them all of the fact that she is above them in any way possible.

Bestia murmurs something along the lines of "try not to let her get to you, kid," before going to stand alongside the other slaves, who appear to be ethnically mixed. Several of them eye Quinn curiously and a few knowingly, and it sets her further on edge.

Tearing her gaze from them, Quinn moves to stand before Silvanus, hazel eyes ablaze, readying herself for a fight.

"Glad to see you could join us, Gaul," Silvanus says with an amused smirk, raising Quinn's ire. "Before we begin your training—which, if that pitiful display in Massilia is anything to go by, you are in desperate need of—you are going to take an oath."

"An oath?" she asks incredulously.

"Ah, so you _can_ speak Latin," Silvanus replies. "It's good to see you're not completely useless."

Quinn's jaw tightens as she narrows her eyes at the insult. She wishes she weren't restrained by shackles, because right now she wants nothing more than to smack that smug look off the lanista's face.

"But yes, an oath," she continues breezily. "You will vow to endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword."

"I will do no such thing," Quinn retorts angrily.

Silvanus looks unimpressed and clucks her tongue. "I realize I probably knocked what little sense you may have had out of your head the other day, but you have no choice—you've been condemned to the arena." She steps forward, standing mere inches from Quinn as she stares down at her. "You will fight in the Games, you will put on the greatest show Rome has ever seen, and you will bring me glory."

Quinn shakes her head in defiance. "I will never serve you," she growls.

Without warning, she jerks her head upward and smashes it into the underside of Silvanus's chin. She feels a rush of satisfaction as the woman staggers back slightly—momentarily stunned. Quinn quickly follows through by raising her chained arms over her left shoulder and slamming her clasped hands into the side of Silvanus's head, knocking her to the ground.

Before Quinn can get off another attack, Silvanus presses her hands into the ground and sweeps both of her legs out, catching the backs of Quinn's knees and knocking her out from under her feet. Quinn's back hits the ground just as Silvanus springs to her feet, but it doesn't deter her. She rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding the booted foot trying to crush her.

It's difficult with the restraints, but she manages to clamber back to her feet—only to be met with Silvanus's fist flying toward her face.

Quinn quickly ducks her head, avoiding the strike. From her crouched position, she strikes out with both fists at the lanista's kneecap. Silvanus swiftly lifts her leg, causing Quinn to miss her target. Quinn's misstep carries her momentum too far forward, and Silvanus takes advantage—bringing her left elbow down hard and smashing it into Quinn's right temple.

Pain explodes in her skull, and Quinn staggers as the world goes out of focus. Seconds later, she's tackled to the ground and forced onto her stomach. A strong hand grips her hair and presses her face into the dirt. She struggles to push herself up, but Silvanus has her pinned—her knees digging roughly into her back.

"You'll pay for your insolence, slave," Silvanus hisses against her ear before pulling back. "Chain her up, Bestia!"

* * *

"Fifteen!"

_Crack!_

"Sixteen!"

_Crack!_

The lash of the whip is unforgiving, and Quinn grits her teeth, wraps her fingers around the chain above her head, and presses her heels into the ground, doing her best to block out the pain from the strip of leather beating down on her. She's grown accustomed to the whip during her last few weeks in captivity, and she's sure her back is bleeding by now.

She can feel the eyes of the other slaves in the training ground watching her punishment—one that Silvanus seems to enjoy meting out. But Quinn gamely takes it because she'll be damned before she willingly serves a Roman.

After the twentieth lash is delivered, Quinn hears the whip drop to the ground behind her, and she lets out a shaky breath of relief. Moments later, Silvanus comes into view and stands in front of her. "Ready to take that oath now, Gaul?"

Quinn narrows her eyes, and curses at the woman in Gaulish.

Silvanus laughs mockingly before roughly gripping Quinn's face and squeezing tightly, causing Quinn to wince in pain. "You _will_ serve me, slave. And you will make me a winner."

* * *

Quinn lies topless on the mat in her cell, not wanting to further irritate the welts on her back with the rough material of her tunic, and her head throbs dully from all the hits it's taken lately.

"Stings like a bitch, doesn't it?" a voice sounds, and Quinn looks up to see a slim, olive-skinned girl with dark hair and dark eyes looking at her from the cell across from hers. Her accent is heavy, but there's something about it that reminds Quinn of her own.

"I'm Saoirse," she adds.

"Quinn," she replies quietly.

There's no response for several moments, so Quinn assumes the conversation is over.

Just as she's about to doze off, Saoirse starts to speak again. "You know, when I first came here from Hispania, it was horrible. I was owned by a man who whipped and beat me just because he felt like it. It didn't matter how well I did in the arena—how many fights I won. But then Silvanus bought me," she explains. "And now when I win, I get rewarded."

"Good for you," Quinn grumbles.

"Look, I know she was laying some serious insults on you, but that's just how Silvanus works. She wouldn't have bought you if you weren't actually good. I hate to admit it, but that you were able to land a hit on her while shackled is impressive. I've never done it in a fair fight, and I've been with her for almost a year. And the fact that you _only_ got a whipping for what you pulled today is proof that she values you. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you'd be dead."

"I don't care _what_ she thinks of me. She can rot for all I care."

Saoirse sighs and rolls her eyes. "Quinn, I get it. Every single one of us gets it. But it could be worse. The truth is Silvanus is the best lanista there is, and you should enjoy the perks while you can."

Quinn scowls and turns her head away from Saoirse. She doesn't want to hear about "rewards" and "perks" when everything around her is nothing but a constant reminder of just how far she has fallen.

* * *

The next day brings more of the same. Quinn once again refuses to take the oath, and once again the whip is taken to her back.

She's brought back to her cell afterward—this time without getting any food—and Bestia shakes her head and tells her, "You're more stubborn than the Amazons. I know this isn't the life you wanted, but if you win in the arena, you will reap the benefits." She looks at Quinn intently then—a flash of warning in her eyes that Quinn chooses to ignore. "But Silvanus isn't a patient woman. It's only going to get worse if you keep defying her."

Part of her thinks Bestia might be right. But the idea of someone—especially a Roman— _owning_ her tears at her pride, and she can't help but fight against it. Her father would expect nothing less from her.

* * *

It's late in the evening when Silvanus comes to her cell with Bestia in tow.

Quinn is on her feet as quickly as she is able, trying to ignore the fact that her back feels like it's on fire.

Silvanus opens the cell door and looks down her nose at Quinn deliberately. "I imagine your back is feeling pretty raw by now. I'm sure you're ready to stop this nonsense and take the oath."

"Never, you stupid cow," she replies in Gaulish—not caring if Silvanus can understand her or not.

"Alright then. Since you stupidly continue to disobey me, it seems that more drastic measures need to be taken to remind of your place," Silvanus informs her calmly, but there's a sort of casual cruelty behind her blue eyes that sets Quinn on edge.

Silvanus nods her head at Bestia, and Quinn doesn't miss the pity in the trainer's eyes as she swiftly moves in on her. The larger woman roughly grabs her by her upper arms, and Quinn instinctively struggles against her hold, but it's no use. Her shackles put her at a distinct disadvantage, and Bestia is simply too strong for her to break free.

She is thrown over Bestia's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried out of her cell. Bestia's grip is firm and unyielding, but Quinn can't help but try to fight against it. Part of her knows it's futile. Even if she did break free, then what? There's nowhere to go. But it's her nature to fight, and she can't accept what has happened to her. She can't accept that she's a slave to the Roman Empire now.

She can't.

She's carried through the barracks—aware of the eyes belonging to the other girls peering out at her through their cells. They bypass the training grounds where she had previously been whipped, and Quinn realizes that she has no idea where they are taking her.

Short moments later, and to Quinn's confusion, they arrive at what looks to be a smithy. Bestia drops her unceremoniously on the ground, and, unable to break her fall, Quinn lands awkwardly on her back—irritating her raw skin. Before she can recover, Silvanus takes hold of the shackles on her wrists and drags her across the floor, and Quinn hisses in pain. Silvanus chains her restraints to the base of the anvil in the center of the room and roughly turns her onto her right side.

Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn can see Bestia take hold of a branding iron and place it in the forge.

Panic bubbles up inside her at the realization of what Silvanus is going to do to her, and she doubles her effort to break free of her binds—eyes darting around to see what she could use as a weapon—hammers and rods and loose chains.

But it's no use. No matter how hard she tries, she can't get loose.

"You know, normally I prefer to simply mark my property with stigmata," Silvanus informs her as she takes the now-scalding-hot iron from Bestia's outstretched hand. "And I intend to do the same to you once you take your oath, which I expect to be tomorrow." She stares down at Quinn sharply. "I'll admit I like your fire, but I'm tired of you wasting my time when you have a job to do—and that is to fight and _win_ in the arena. And this," she says, shoving the glowing red, lightning-shaped tip in front of Quinn's face—close enough for her to feel its heat and causing her anxiety to spike, "is to remind you of that."

Silvanus removes the branding iron from in front of her, and Quinn can once again feel its heat as it approaches her left shoulder. She grits her teeth as she tries to brace herself for the inevitable.

A scream erupts from her throat as the scalding-hot iron sears into her skin. She can smell her flesh burning as Silvanus presses further into her shoulder, and it's without question the single most painful experience of her life.

Even after the iron is removed, there is no relief. Hot tears roll down her face as her flesh continues to burn. She clenches her jaw and takes labored breaths, praying for the pain to stop.

Silvanus suddenly kicks her in the gut and rolls her over with her foot. She presses her boot firmly into Quinn's stomach, forcing the air out of her body. "Are you going to do what you're told now? Or do I need to brand your face as well?" she asks, holding the hot iron mere inches from Quinn's forehead.

Quinn shakes her head frantically and nearly cries with relief when Silvanus drops the iron on the anvil above her head and turns to leave.

* * *

Sleep is nearly impossible that night. Her shoulder burns and her back aches so fiercely that she thinks she might be physically sick.

But worse are the visions of the final battle in Arverni that continue to torture Quinn. Every time she closes her eyes, all she can see are the dead bodies of both her tribesmen and enemies on the blood-soaked grass and dirt, and the raging fires that burned her city to the ground.

She remembers Emperor Sejanus's cruel smile as he ordered her father's legs to be broken as he was nailed to the cross. She remembers the sheer anguish on her mother's face as the same was done to her. She remembers how he made her watch as he executed her entire family. She remembers the sadistic glint in his eye as he declared her _ad ludum_ and sold her to Salonius, who took her away from her home in chains.

She may hate Silvanus for what she has done to her the last few days, but it doesn't compare to what she feels toward the emperor of Rome. After all, _he_ is the one who condemned her to the arena.

To her immense frustration, Quinn is realizing that she isn't going to escape from her current situation. And there is only so much more suffering she can take. She's strong, but she's not Ogmios. And truthfully, the thought of a branding iron to the face terrifies her just a bit.

She thinks of what Bestia and Saoirse—who, thankfully, has been silent tonight—have said about this life—about being a gladiator. They say it's hard, but hardship isn't something Quinn is unused to. After all, she comes from a warrior people.

They say there are rewards. She has no idea what those rewards entail, but she thinks she can safely assume they don't involve branding irons and whips.

She's proud, and she doesn't want to give in to Silvanus. But she's realizing that her pride is liable to get her killed at this rate, and Quinn isn't ready to die.

* * *

The following morning, Quinn swallows her pride and stiffly kneels before Silvanus in full view of the other gladiators and Bestia. She tries to ignore the smug look on the lanista's face as she takes the oath of a gladiator.

"I vow to endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword."

She reminds herself that she's not giving up—she's living to fight another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet the rest of Silvanus's gladiatrices. And for those of you wondering, Rachel will be coming into the story _very_ soon.
> 
> Also, many thanks to angelffxmaniac for help with the Greek. :)
> 
> Characters making their debut (or are mentioned by name) in this chapter: Britt = Brittany Pierce | Makelesi = Mack | Mhonum = Mercedes Jones | Sukie = Sugar Motta | Harmonia = Harmony | Seanlaoch = Sam Evans | Emperor Schlerus = Will Schuester

Training is brutal.

Quinn always thought her father's regiments were intense, but this is unlike anything she ever did back home. They have been going for several candlemarks with no sign of slowing down. It doesn't help that her physical conditioning weakened during her time in captivity, but she knows that, ultimately, this will only help her get back to where she once was.

Currently, Silvanus has them running suicide drills. Quinn's lungs burn from the exertion, and her muscles feel like dead weight as she attempts to sprint from one end of the arena to the other before dropping to the ground and doing ten pushups.

Her back screams in protest with every movement—the lashes from Silvanus's whip still fresh—and her shoulder aches fiercely from the blistering brand. But Quinn refuses to show just how much she's hurting and tries to push through.

She chances a glance at her fellow slaves and sees that, with the exception of Saoirse and a tall, blonde girl running alongside her, they aren't fairing much better. A burly, dark-skinned girl has her hands braced on her knees as she attempts to catch her breath. The other three gladiators' movements are sluggish and their breaths labored.

The next time Quinn drops down to begin her next set of pushups, exhaustion finally gets the better of her. Her arms give out, and she collapses on the ground, panting for air.

"You think this is hard?" Silvanus shouts from the edge of the arena, and Quinn can't help but cant her head to the side and glare at the woman. "Try killing a tiger with your bare hands—that's hard!"

Quinn has no idea what a tiger is, but she doesn't like the implication of the lanista's words. Gritting her teeth, she pushes herself up to sit.

"Pathetic," Silvanus says in disgust before glancing at the sky, no doubt noting the position of the sun. Sneering, she fixes her blue eyes back onto the slaves in the arena. "Alright, clean yourselves off, eat, and be back here in one candlemark for weapons drills." With that, she turns on her heels and retreats back into the halls of the ludus.

Quinn lets out a breath of relief, grateful for a respite. A shadow falls over her then, and she looks up to see one of the gladiators, a slightly taller girl with long, wavy black hair—her breathing heavy and her light blue tunic drenched with sweat. The girl extends a hand—black stigma marring the back of it—and Quinn takes it and allows herself to be helped to her feet, trying not to wince at the pain in her back and failing.

"Thanks," she says in Latin, assuming Gaulish won't be understood.

" _Parakalo_ ," the girl replies.

Quinn's brow furrows, not understanding the foreign word and wondering what language it is.

Before she can ask, a voice sounds behind her, "Your back is bleeding."

Quinn grimaces at the realization—thinking it was sweat that had been soaking through her tunic, not blood. She turns to see the blonde girl who had been running with Saoirse, her blue eyes gazing at Quinn with a hint of concern.

"Bestia probably has something you can put on it to make it feel better." At the mention of the trainer, hazel eyes automatically flit over to where Bestia stands, waiting at the edge of the arena. "I'm Britt, by the way," she continues, extending a hand for Quinn to take in a warrior's shake.

Quinn clasps onto her forearm, also noting the stigma on the other girl's hand. "Quinn."

Britt glances over Quinn's shoulder at the girl who helped Quinn up. "That's Makelesi. She doesn't speak anything besides Greek, but she kind of understands us anyway."

Makelesi rolls her eyes at Britt and begins to walk off the training ground.

"Come on, girls, let's get a move on," Bestia calls out. "Introductions can be finished later."

Britt offers her a half smile and shrugs as she turns to leave. Knowing that time is limited, Quinn follows the others out of the arena to get cleaned up.

* * *

"What is this?" Quinn asks, taking the curved piece of metal Bestia offers her.

"A strigil," she explains. "Use it to scrape the dirt and oil off your skin. Then you can rinse in the basin over there," she adds, jerking her thumb toward to the long trench of water situated against the wall. "I'll get you some acetum for those welts so they don't get infected."

Quinn observes the other slaves quietly for a moment while she waits for Bestia to return with the acetum. Britt and Saoirse stand near the basin and trade soft smiles before individually attending to the task of cleaning themselves. Makelesi stands at the far end of the room with two other girls as they work their strigili against their skin. There's a familiarity between them—it reminds her of what she had with her cousin Seanlaoch, and the unexpected wave of sadness that comes at the thought has her closing her eyes and releasing a harsh breath through her nose.

"You okay?" a heavily-accented voice cuts into her thoughts.

Quinn opens her eyes and turns to see the dark-skinned girl looking at her with a touch of concern. She nods, forcing the thoughts of _why_ her cousin is no longer here out of her mind. "I'm fine."

"My name is Mhonum," the girl says after a moment.

"Quinn," she replies, and she can't help but be slightly fascinated by her dark skin and hair. She's never seen anyone who looks like her. "Where are you from?"

"Africa," Mhonum answers as she busies herself with cleaning up. "You should hurry. There's not much time until the next training, and we still need food."

Knowing Mhonum is right, Quinn begins to gingerly remove her blood and sweat-soaked tunic, grimacing as the rough material scratches against her torn skin. She's not really sure how to use the strigil, but after a few experimental scrapes against her forearm, Quinn gets the hang of it. She takes care to avoid her back, which is causing her a great deal of discomfort. What she really needs is a few days to let it heal, but there's no way Silvanus will allow that, especially after all the trouble Quinn gave her.

Bestia returns then with what looks like a flask, and Quinn assumes it's the acetum. "Brace your hands against the basin," she orders, and Quinn places them against the basin's edge, eager for some kind of relief.

She hears the faint sound of a cork popping, and a sharp scent fills the air. Cool liquid is poured down her back. Quinn hisses and tightens her hold on the basin as it makes contact with her welts. It stings—badly—not providing any sort of comfort like she had hoped it would.

But of course, there wouldn't be any comfort. Not in a place like this.

She doesn't regret standing her ground against Silvanus, but she can't help but wish that everything would stop hurting _so_ damn much.

"You're tough, Gaul," Mhonum comments, looking somewhat impressed.

Quinn smiles bitterly and grits her teeth as more of the burning liquid is poured into her wounds.

* * *

Fortunately, weapons training is less grueling than the morning session, as Silvanus actually allows for small breaks throughout it. The lanista has paired them up, and, right now, she is mainly focused on Quinn and her partner—an Amazon named Sukie.

Bestia informed her that she'll train in many different disciplines, but first she's starting out with the short sword—her weapon of choice. To her disappointment, it's not a real sword—only a wooden one, just like the one she used when she fought Silvanus back in Massilia.

Sukie is wielding a net, and for one awful moment, Quinn flashes back to the battle in Arverni—surrounded by centurions, getting caught in a net, being dragged across the blood-soaked earth…

She blinks and forces the memory away, focusing on the present.

It's obvious the net isn't her sparring opponent's preferred weapon, and while Quinn normally enjoys a challenge, today she is grateful to have an advantage.

Sukie swings the net in a circle a few times, allowing her weapon to gain momentum, and Quinn watches intently—looking for any weakness in her opponent's form and noting several. Planting her left foot forward, Sukie flicks her wrists, slinging the net at Quinn, who quickly ducks out of its path. Ignoring the pain lancing up her back, she swiftly turns and kicks her left leg out—hitting Sukie square in the chest and sending her sprawling to the ground.

Sukie sputters and coughs, and before she can recover, Quinn is standing over her, pressing the tip of her sword at the hollow of Sukie's throat. Their eyes lock briefly, and Quinn can see faint traces of respect in brown eyes. She pulls the blade back and quickly thrusts down—stabbing the weapon into the ground, mere inches from the girl's neck. Had she stayed on target, it would have been a kill shot.

But Quinn has no intention of killing Sukie or any of the other girls in Silvanus's possession. Even though she doesn't really know any of them, she can't help but feel some sort of kinship with them. After all, like Saoirse said, they all "get it."

"You have some skill, Gaul," Silvanus comments, drawing Quinn's attention away from her sparring partner. "But you completely lack the ability to entertain."

Hazel eyes narrow as her temper flares.

The lanista smirks. "Oh, I'm sure you can kill with ease. But that's not the point of the Games. You girls are here to put on a show. And what you just did will win you no admirers."

"I don't care about admirers," Quinn retorts angrily, and the smirk falls off Silvanus's face.

"What you do or don't care about doesn't matter, _slave_ ," she says coldly, stepping into Quinn's personal space. "The only thing that matters is what _I_ want and what _I_ say."

Quinn doesn't back down and stares back defiantly.

Silvanus appears unfazed and purses her lips. "Not even a day since you took your oath and already you're becoming forgetful," she tsks. "I think it's time for your stigmata."

* * *

The blade of the knife cutting into the skin of the back of her left hand stings. As a warrior, Quinn knows pain, and she has definitely built up a tolerance over the years.

But this isn't meant to toughen her up. It's another way for Silvanus to put her in her place. The brand, which hurts as badly as it did the night she got it, is much worse than this, but it doesn't diminish the fact that she's being further marked as property.

She's strapped down to a chair—her raw back pressed uncomfortably against it—and all she can do is watch as Bestia rubs ink and ash into the cut—mixing with the blood seeping from the wound. It's the same lightning-like shape as the brand—the same stigmata she's seen on the other girls. Quinn safely assumes it's Silvanus's symbol. And based on what she saw of the stigmata on the others, she'll have to endure being marked three more times—on her right hand and both of her legs.

"Did you really need to strap me down for this?" Quinn asks bitterly.

Bestia's lips turn up into a half smile. "I like you, Quinn, but I don't exactly trust you. I'm not willing to run the risk of you getting a hold of this knife."

She has a point, Quinn realizes. And even though Bestia may like her well enough, her loyalty is to Silvanus. "Where are you from?" Quinn asks, needing the conversation to distract her from the discomfort of the knife digging into her hand.

"Germania," Bestia replies. "Prisoner of war like you, condemned to fight in the arena. But I earned my freedom eventually, and now I work for Silvanus."

"You can earn freedom?" she asks, a sliver of hope creeping into her voice.

"It's extremely rare for prisoners of war, but yes," she confirms as she begins to carve the skin of Quinn's calf. "I spent nearly a decade fighting in the Games before Emperor Schlerus granted me my freedom."

She deflates at the information. It figures, Quinn thinks. There's no way Emperor Sejanus will do the same for her.

Not that she wants him to free her. She shouldn't have to _earn_ her freedom—not when she was wrongfully enslaved to begin with.

She hisses as more ash is rubbed into her skin, and wishes for the hundredth time that there was some way to get back everything she has lost.

* * *

Quinn sits on the mat in her cell and stares at the stigmata on her hands, wondering what her father would say if he could see her now.

When she had submitted before Silvanus and taken the gladiator's oath, she told herself that she was deciding to live to fight another day. But now she can't help but wonder what it is she is even fighting for anymore. It's not for herself. No, her feelings—her _humanity_ —don't matter anymore.

All that matters now is that her _owner_ is pleased. And the only way to please her is to please some crowd. A crowd that is no doubt filled with Romans—the very people Quinn despises.

"How do you stand it?" she asks, hoping one of the other girls in their cells will respond despite the late hour.

"Stand what?" Saoirse replies, rolling up to sit on her mattress and peering at her through the bars.

"Being a slave. Fighting for the Romans' entertainment—maybe even dying for their entertainment."

"Well, I don't know about everyone else, but when I fight, I do it for my people," she explains. "Silvanus lets us keep our identity in the arena. I'm known as 'The Spaniard.' And there are worse places we could have ended up—like a brothel."

Quinn shudders at the thought.

"And like I told you the other day, there are perks."

"Like what?"

"Three meals a day is better than anything I had back home. And people love the Games, and they love what we do. Especially when we win. Some of the wealthier citizens throw parties for us, and those parties? The most fun you'll ever have. They lust after us, and some of them even take us as lovers."

Quinn bristles at that. "How is that any different than a brothel?"

"The only thing Silvanus cares about is winning in the Games. If we want to sleep with our admirers, it's our choice. She doesn't care."

"Why would you even let a Roman take you to their bed?"

"We all need a way to deal with battle lust and bedding someone is my preferred method," she says with a slight smirk.

"Anything else?" Quinn asks distastefully, feeling somewhat put off with the direction of this conversation.

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you and say that this is an ideal situation. But like Britt says, life is what you make of it. So we're just trying to make the best of what we have." She laughs lightly then.

"What?"

"I wasn't so different from you when I first came here. In fact, I kind of hated the world. But Britt got me to look at things in a different way."

There's something about the look in Saoirse's eyes that makes Quinn take note, but she's not sure what it is exactly.

"Give it some time," Saoirse says. "It's not going to happen overnight."

Quinn frowns, wondering if it will ever happen at all.

* * *

"You shouldn't scratch."

Quinn stops scratching her nails against the stigma on her left hand and turns to look at Britt as she settles onto the seat beside her in the mess hall.

"I know it itches, but it's better to just leave it alone," she continues as she serves herself some food and begins to eat. "You should try the oatmeal."

Quinn eyes her strangely but takes a bowl and scoops out some of the oatmeal, which has some raisins mixed in. "It's good," she says after swallowing a mouthful.

"I'm glad you like it."

They fall into a comfortable silence then, and Quinn takes the opportunity to observe her new companions while they eat breakfast.

As usual, the three Amazons—Makelesi, Sukie, and Harmonia—are seated together. She's most curious about them, especially since she's been compared to them more than once. The language barrier makes it hard, but having watched them on the training ground the last few days—especially Makelesi—Quinn sees a near unbreakable will in them.

In fact, it's something she sees in all the girls under Silvanus's watch, even if some of them are still wet behind the ears. Despite her inexperience, Mhonum has incredible determination. Britt seems the most at ease—and the most experienced of the gladiators—but she has deadly focus. And for all of Saoirse's talk about Britt helping her have a more positive outlook, she's ferocious on the training ground.

They may be from different parts of the world, but there is commonality and a growing mutual respect among them. Quinn is realizing that these girls will become her sisters in arms once they get into the Games, and despite how much she might dislike Silvanus, the lanista did well in choosing girls who ultimately have what it takes.

Even so, Quinn is still struggling to reconcile the reality of her current situation with her ideals. But the need to survive continues to outweigh her pride, and so she's trying to find something she can fight for. The admiration that will supposedly come from winning doesn't interest Quinn, and the idea of entertaining Romans is still incredibly distasteful. But fighting in honor of her people like Saoirse does? That's something she'll proudly do.

For now, it's enough. It will have to be enough, because freedom is an impossibility, and Quinn can't bear to acknowledge that fact any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's first fight as a gladiator. Rachel will be appearing in the next chapter.
> 
> Characters making their first appearance in this chapter: Azize = Azimio | Governor Decimus Carius Horatius = Carl Howell | the orator = Blaine Anderson

The dust of the road kicks up as Silvanus's gladiatrices are led through the streets of Genua in chains by Roman soldiers. Silvanus has taken up the front of their small procession—in a chariot, no less—and Quinn can easily imagine the smug look on the lanista's face. After all, it's one she's grown very familiar with over the last month.

A crowd has gathered along the roadside, eager to catch a glimpse of the girls. Quinn can practically feel their curiosity—and their desire. From the catcalls, it's obvious that Britt and Saoirse already have their fair share of admirers, but Silvanus's newest slaves have generated some buzz throughout the city. Apparently, female fighters are a rarity in the Games, and to have this many fighting at the same time has brought the people out in droves.

Saoirse and Britt are soaking up the attention, but Quinn finds it makes her a little uncomfortable. The idea of merely being entertainment for these people still rubs her the wrong way, and the fact that she's chained adds another layer of humiliation. She can't help but resent them.

Their procession turns a corner, ending up on the road that leads to the arena. Quinn looks up at the large building and notes the inscription: Niveus Proeliator.

Long moments later, they are led to one of the arena's entrances that is only for those involved in the Games. Quinn is happy to leave the chaos of the crowd behind, and she focuses on what's to come as they step inside the dark bowels of the arena.

The sound of their footsteps and Silvanus's chariot echo off the walls, which hold torches to light the way. Raucous sounds begin to fill the air as they make their way into the main waiting area beneath the arena floor. Quinn's eyes dart around, taking it all in. There are dozens of slaves along with lanistas and trainers and, of course, soldiers to stand guard. Their presence causes more than a few curious glances to come their way, and Quinn wonders if she'll be facing any of them in the arena.

Their group abruptly comes to a halt in what Quinn assumes to be the area sectioned off for them. Bestia is already there—having arrived early with the weapons and armor the girls will be using in the Games. Quinn watches Bestia critically eye a blade's edge, looking for any defects, and Quinn's fingers itch to hold the weapon. It's been too long since she's held a real sword. One look at her fellow slaves tells her that they're anxious for it as well.

Silvanus hops off her chariot and appraises her fighters as the soldiers work to remove their shackles and chains. Quinn shakes her arms out as the metal slips from her wrists, glad to be free again.

"Alright, girls, line up," Silvanus calls out, and, now used to this particular command, they quickly fall in line. "Today, you're being thrown to the lions," she announces.

Britt looks stricken. "I thought you said that we wouldn't ever have to fight the beasts, Silvanus," she says, and Saoirse places a comforting hand on her lower back.

Silvanus chuckles. "Oh, poor, sweet, Britt. You should know me better than that. I didn't mean literally. I bought you all for a reason. I believe you to be capable of being the best. So, at the request of today's host, Governor Horatius, you're going to face the best. Don't let me down and end up like most of the newbies." And with that, Silvanus turns on her heels and heads towards the platform that will lift her up into the arena's concourse.

"What did she mean by that?" Quinn asks Bestia.

"Most new fighters only have a one in six chance of surviving their first fight in the arena," she explains, handing Quinn a manica and an ocrea.

Despite the odds, Quinn isn't worried. After all, the stories aren't exaggerated. It did take almost two-dozen centurions to defeat her. She's confident that anything she faces today will pale in comparison. But taking a look around her, it's obvious that some of the other girls are worried—particularly Mhonum.

"Hey," Quinn says, getting her attention. "I know you've only ever sparred before, but I know you can do this. You're better than most fighters I've seen. You'll win. I know you will."

Mhonum offers her a smile of thanks in response, and Quinn sees some of the tension dissipate at her assurance.

She turns her attention back to the task of putting on her armor. She fastens the leather straps of the iron manica to her right arm—the padded lining providing protection from the overlapping metal plates. Next, she attaches the ocrea to her lower left leg—the metal greave meant to protect her shin. It isn't much, but she's used to wearing very little armor. She likes having the freedom of mobility, and too much metal weighing down on her impedes that.

The preparation brings back memories of getting ready for battle, and adrenaline begins to course through her.

A sudden ruckus across the room draws Quinn's attention from what she's doing. She looks up to see a group of three-dozen or so men being corralled by guards near a large gate. Quinn can tell most of them aren't fighters—they seem weak and most look to be terribly afraid. A few put on a brave face, but she gets the sense that it's an act.

"Who are they?" she asks Saoirse, gesturing with her head toward them as a scrawny young man is shoved to the ground by a guard.

"The appetizers of the Games."

Quinn turns her head sharply to look at the other girl, who is wearing a grim expression.

"They're criminals. They'll fight until every single one of them are dead. It's enough to satisfy some of the crowd's bloodlust until the main course," she explains before turning to look at Quinn. "Us."

She swallows and sets her jaw in a firm line as she looks back at the prisoners being led through the gate and into the arena. In less than a candlemark, they'll all be dead. But unlike those men, Quinn has a chance to live, and she'll be damned if she ends up dying for the whim of a crowd. Her fate is in her own hands now.

* * *

"It's time, Quinn," Bestia says.

She's the first of the gladiactrices to fight today, and the wait has been frustrating. The sounds of the crowd and the screams of the dying men filtering down to where they waited didn't do much to calm anyone's nerves.

Quinn lets out a long breath as she comes to stand before Bestia, who presents her with a parma. She tests the weight of the small, rectangular shield, and finds that it's perfect for someone of her size. One thing she has to give Silvanus credit for—she provides her gladiators with high-quality armor and weapons. Speaking of weapons…

"I know you've been dying to hold a real sword for months," Bestia says with an amused smile as she presents Quinn with a gladius.

She smiles and takes the sword from Bestia. The solid weight of the hilt in her hand feels good, and for the first time since the battle in Arverni, Quinn feels almost like herself again.

She then looks towards the other girls, and they nod confidently at her.

"Remember what Silvanus said," Britt says. "We're the best. So you'll win, Quinn. I know you will."

Her lips quirk up into a small smile at that. She has no doubt that she'll win, but she appreciates Britt's matter of fact approach to things.

"Good luck, Gaul," Mhonum says.

Quinn nods in return before beginning a slow jog up the tunnel—lined with guards—that leads to the entrance of the arena. Adrenaline begins to pump through her with every step she takes. She knows this is life or death, and she can't afford to lose her focus for an instant once the Games begin.

A horn sounds faintly, and the door in front of her lifts up, revealing the open space of the arena's fighting ground. She steps through the gates and squints against the light of the sun. The energy flowing off the crowd is palpable—they're hungry. Excited. Waiting for more blood, which Quinn can now see stained on the sands of the arena floor.

The horn sounds again—this time much more loudly—piercing through the raucous crowd, and Quinn's eyes dart up, searching for its source. She finally finds it—stopping on a balcony, where a short, black-haired young man stands.

The gate opposite her opens then, revealing a large, dark-skinned boy decked in heavy armor—including a plumed helmet—and wielding a gladius. He roars as he pounds his free fist against his chest, and the crowd reciprocates.

Hazel eyes narrow as she takes him in. He isn't any bigger than the men she trained with and fought alongside back home, but this is different. This is all about putting on a good show, as Silvanus likes to remind her, and she can tell he already owns this crowd.

"For our first fight, we have the barbarian Gaul—a warrior princess captured and defeated by our great emperor—Gaius Julius Sejanus!" the orator announces, and Quinn feels her blood boil at the mention of the man and the subsequent jeers of the crowd.

Her opponent smirks at her, and it's enough to draw her attention back to where it should be—on the boy that in short moments will try to take her life.

"And facing her is the undefeated Tunisian, Azize!"

With that pronouncement, the arena is filled with deafening cheers of adulation. He pounds his chest once more as he turns in a circle—reveling in the crowd's love. Quinn's pride rears up within her as her hand tightens around her sword. _I'll wipe that smug look off his face. Pompous idiot._

The horn sounds a third and final time, and Azize abruptly halts and turns to face Quinn head-on—weapon at the ready.

Immediately, she drops into a fighting stance and observes him. He swings his sword around a few times—clearly showing off, much to the crowd's delight—and she immediately spots a glaring weakness in his approach. But she knows she has to draw this fight out—that there is a difference between fighting on the battlefield and fighting in the Games.

So she waits.

"Ready to die, girlie?" he taunts, swiping down at her head with his sword.

Quinn smirks and lifts her shield, blocking the blow as a loud clang echoes through the arena. He tries again and again and again—putting more force behind each attack—but she holds her ground, not even budging in the slightest, drawing some approval from the crowd.

He suddenly changes tactics and quickly thrusts his blade toward Quinn, but she sidesteps and knocks the blow to the side with her shield. She then swiftly lunges forward and thrusts her own weapon at her opponent—catching Azize's underarm, just above his body armor, and piercing through his dark skin.

He hisses in pain and jumps back as blood begins to drip from his wound—satiating some of the crowd's bloodlust, and getting a few of them firmly on her side.

Her smirk grows. "Are you?" she replies, much to the crowd's delight and to Azize's chagrin.

He shakes his head. "You'll pay for that," he grits out before launching into another series of attacks with his sword.

She blocks each and every one with her gladius, deciding to forgo her shield for the time being. The crowd loves it, and Quinn can tell Azize is getting frustrated by the fact that he has yet to land a single blow on her body. And Quinn knows that frustration is liable to lead to him making a mistake. She just needs to be patient.

He overreaches on his next attack, catching Quinn by surprise. Acting fast, she lifts her right arm up, and at that moment, she's glad she's wearing a manica. His sword gets caught between the metal plates for a moment. The blade finally slides out, and he roars furiously as he jabs his left fist forward.

Quinn ducks, narrowly avoiding the hit. Before Azize knows what's happening, she slices her shield up, catching his nose with a sickening crunch. Azize howls in anguish, staggers back, and holds his face with his left hand—blood pouring out between his fingers.

And with that display, the tide officially turns—the crowd now firmly behind Quinn—and she can't help but feed off that energy.

"I thought I was supposed to fight the best," Quinn comments, looking at him apathetically in an attempt to rile him up even more.

He growls and lunges toward her, but what he has in strength and size, she makes up for with speed and agility. Just before his sword is about to make contact with her shield, Quinn drops to her knees and slashes her arm back as she slides forward—her blade slicing into the back of his ankle, cutting through his Achilles tendon.

Azize screams in agony as he falls to the ground, dropping his sword. Quinn moves quickly and kicks it away. She then presses her sandaled foot into the boy's side and kicks him onto his back.

Blood rushes in her ears as she stares down at her fallen opponent. Pain shines out from his dark eyes—silently begging Quinn to end it.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" the crowd chants, and it sends a shiver down Quinn's spine.

"Do it," he rasps out, blood pooling from his shattered nose.

Mercifully, she thrusts her blade into his throat, quickly ending his miserable existence.

The crowd cheers as she pulls her bloodied weapon from Azize's dead body. She pants slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through her as she turns in a circle to look up at the people applauding her—showering her with love. It would be disconcerting if she wasn't on the high that always comes from fighting for her life.

She catches sight of Silvanus standing alongside the governor, who is cheering excitedly. She smiles approvingly at Quinn before turning to look at another lanista—whose head is in his hands—and gloating at the man.

An organized chant begins to take place in the crowd. "Gaul! Gaul! Gaul!" she hears them cry out, and Quinn can't help but mentally shake her head in disbelief. These people—her enemies—are now cheering for her.

It's surreal.

When she stepped onto this bloodied sand less than a candlemark ago, she intended to show them what her people are made of. But she didn't expect this—the adulation and reverence. But most of all, she didn't expect it to make her feel good.

She briefly wonders what her father would think of all this, before giving in and soaking it all up as the crowd continues to chant her name.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment quite a few of you have been waiting for—the appearance of Rachel. As you will see, I did not change her name. It will be explained why later on in the story.
> 
> Characters making their first appearance (or are mentioned) in this chapter: Rachel = Rachel Berry | Elianne = Emma Pillsbury | Brutus Humilus Curtius = Kurt Hummel | General Marcus Varius Leon = Leroy Berry | Flavian = Finn Hudson | Caeles Julius Andronicus = Cooper Anderson | Senator Barrus Pomona Hirrus = Hiram Berry | the orator = Dustin Goolsby | Tertius = Trent (warbler) | Tatius = Thad (warbler)

Small, nimble fingers dance across the strings of a cithara, creating a striking melody that fills the space of Rachel's bedroom until it's the only thing she's aware of. She loses herself in the song—letting the instrument become an extension of herself—as she begins to softly hum along.

"My lady," a voice interrupts, causing her fingers to fumble on the strings and a dissonant sound to ring out, making Rachel cringe.

She sighs irritably and looks toward the interruption to find her redheaded slave, Elianne, standing in her doorway. She at least has the good sense to look sheepish at the interruption. "Yes, Elianne?" Rachel asks, not bothering to hide her frustration.

"Master Curtius has arrived. He's waiting for you in the atrium."

"Tell him I'll be there shortly," she replies, momentarily watching her slave scurry off before getting up from her cushioned seat and placing her prized instrument in the corner across from her bed. She smoothes out the front of her long, light-green and saffron-colored tunic with her palms as she turns to gaze into the large mirror adorning the wall.

Her plaited hair is still securely fastened with the large pin Elianne had fashioned it in earlier that morning, but her stophium is a little crooked, so she adjusts it and fastens the cord a little tighter beneath her breasts. A simple pair of gold earrings dangle from her ears, and an ornate gold necklace adorns her collar. Despite how some of the wealthier women she knows love to wear jewelry in excess, Rachel has never been one to go overboard with it. Satisfied with her appearance, she exits her bedroom and walks out into the atrium.

She is met with the sound of laughter as she steps into the sunlit room. Her brown eyes dart to the left, finding the source of it, and—despite herself—her lips curve up into a small smile at the sight of her best friend speaking with her papa. She walks past the _lararium_ in the center of the room to reach them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says, trying to keep her tone light.

Both men turn to face her, but she makes sure to keep her focus on her guest, who is now beaming at her. "Rachel," he greets, sweeping her up into a hug.

She breaks out into a full grin then. "Curtius!" she exclaims. "It is so good to see you!"

"Likewise," he agrees, his blue eyes twinkling as he pulls away. "You look lovely as always."

"Thank you," she replies with a genuine smile. "You look dashing as well," she says, taking in his deep crimson and indigo tunic with a patterned gold trim beneath his customary white toga.

"So you're going to the forum today?" her papa cuts in, instantly putting a damper on Rachel's mood.

"Yes, that's the plan," Curtius confirms, seemingly picking up on the shift in mood as he glances curiously at Rachel. "Maybe we'll go to the theater later, but I promise not to keep Rachel out too late."

"Don't worry about it," he replies. "I know Rachel is in good hands with you."

There's an awkward silence then as Rachel refuses to acknowledge her papa's presence in any way.

"Well, I guess we should be going," Curtius says, mercifully putting an end to the awkwardness. "It was good to see you, General Leon," he adds politely.

"Likewise," her papa replies. "Give your father my regards. And make sure to show my daughter a good time," he adds, looking at Rachel with concerned eyes, but she still refuses to meet his gaze. "She could use it."

She frowns and leaves her home with Curtius without saying goodbye.

* * *

"You seem to be in low spirits, Rachel," Curtius says as they walk through the bustling streets of the forum. "And clearly you aren't speaking to your papa. What's wrong?"

She sighs, gnawing at her lower lip before answering. "The other day, my fathers told me that they're going to start looking for a husband for me."

"I see," he replies carefully, waiting for her to continue.

"I know it's stupid of me to be upset about this. This is the way it is for patricians—I've always known this—but I wish I had a choice. Maybe it's from seeing too many plays, but I like the idea of falling in love—of being with someone because they love me for me, and not just as a means to a political end."

"Oh, Rachel," Curtius says with a sympathetic sigh. "I wish I had some advice, but there isn't really anything you can do. Like you said, this is the way things are."

Rachel frowns. "I wish I could marry you."

Curtius chuckles at that. "I thought you said you wanted to fall in love," he retorts.

That gets a smile out of her. "I suppose you're right. But you're still better than whoever my fathers will choose for me. At least I like you."

He smiles at her. "You're sweet." He loops his arm with hers and leads her over to a stand selling perfume. "But don't be so glum. We're supposed to be having a good time, and it's been awhile since we've spent quality time together."

Rachel sighs again, knowing he's right. "How was your time in Florentia anyway?" she asks.

"Educational," he replies cryptically. Rachel looks at him questioningly, but he doesn't elaborate. "So would you be at all interested in going to the theater?" he asks, changing the direction of conversation, and Rachel lets him. "There's a new play being performed at the Theater of Pompey."

She shakes her head at his suggestion. "I think I need a break from the theater. It's just a reminder of what I can't have—love and a career in music," she says, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice and failing. "What I need is a distraction from that."

Curtius presses his lips into a firm line and taps his chin in thought. Then, slowly, his lips curve up into a smile as his eyes lock on something across the forum. "Ah ha!" he exclaims.

"What?" she asks, following his line of sight and landing on a large poster advertising the Games.

"What about the Colosseum? It's been forever since we've gone. And the next set of Games are going to be _good_ ," he replies with an excited glint in his eyes.

Rachel raises a knowing brow. "Is Flavian back in Rome?" she asks, knowing how much Curtius adores the gladiator in question.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "No, unfortunately, he's still touring Italia with his familia. I think he's in Pompeii at the moment."

"So what is it that has you so excited?" she asks, leading him over to the poster so she can get a closer look.

"I'm assuming you've heard about the Gladiatrices."

"Of course I have," Rachel replies, recalling the stories she's heard in this very forum about the female gladiators. She's not sure how much is myth and how much is truth about their success in the arena, but she has to admit, it's all very intriguing.

"Well, they're due to arrive in Rome to fight in the Colosseum next week."

Her brow furrows in confusion as she looks at the poster and sees what Curtius says is true. "I thought they weren't supposed to be here for another month."

"Apparently, Andronicus grew impatient. He wants them here sooner, and since Rome is the largest stage when it comes to the Games, what he—or Sejanus, when he returns from war—wants, he gets."

Intrigued and thinking it's just the distraction she needs, Rachel's face breaks out into a grin. "Let's do it."

* * *

Rachel can't remember the last time she was this excited to attend the Games. She's always enjoyed them—the art of combat something she has always appreciated due to the fact that her papa is a general in the Roman army, and he often regaled her with tales of his time in battle. But this is different. Perhaps it's the novelty of seeing women fight in the Games, but Rachel suspects it's more than mere novelty.

The only downside to this excursion is that her fathers will be attending as well. There hasn't been this much buzz surrounding the Colosseum in quite some time, and everyone who's everyone is going. Rachel has barely spoken to her fathers in the past week—only addressing them when absolutely necessary. She knows it hurts them, and it makes her feel a little guilty, but she doesn't know any other way to deal with just how upset she is over not having a say in her own future.

Rachel and Curtius arrive early to the Colosseum, making their way through the south entrance and up to the box designated for her father, Senator Hirrus. Her fathers will be arriving later, as they are part of the procession that precedes the Games. Also joining them will be Curtius's father, Brutus, an old friend of her papa's who served under him during the Third Mithridatic War.

An attendant comes by moments after they arrive to their seats and prepares a spread of food and drink for them before handing them each a program listing the day's events. Rachel scans it briefly—her eyes immediately moving to the bottom, where the gladiatorial match-ups are listed. All seven of the Gladiatrices are scheduled to fight today, and she can't wait to see them in action. She almost wishes they could skip all the events beforehand and get right to the main event.

She puts the program down and looks out across the massive amphitheater—enjoying the warm breeze that filters into their box, providing relief from the summer heat. The arena is beginning to fill with more people, and Rachel spots some men in the level below them taking bets.

"I can't remember the last time there was this much hype surrounding the Games," Rachel says, starting to feel her own anticipation grow.

"The scalpers are probably making a killing today," Curtius replies. "You have to admit, Andronicus has always put on good games, but today's billing looks to be especially spectacular."

"True," she agrees, excited for things to start. "He's really going all out for this one. It makes me wonder how Emperor Sejanus will top this when he returns."

Curtius smirks. "It will be interesting, that's for sure. But I have no doubt he will."

The faint sound of trumpets fills the air, and the two friends share an excited smile. The procession is coming through the forum, where those who aren't fortunate enough to get a ticket can get a glimpse of what's to happen inside the Colosseum's walls.

The eastern gate opens then, and Rachel turns to see the slaves at the head of the procession. They are dressed in golden armor, blowing into long trumpets as they enter the Colosseum. They are followed by dozens of musicians playing horns, fifes, and flutes—performing the traditional songs of fanfare as they circle the arena.

The main procession is next to arrive—spectacularly decorated floats holding young men and women posing in tableaus of the founding of Rome. Animal trainers and their exotic beasts follow, along with hunters and bowmen. After they disappear into the underbelly of the Colosseum, exotic dancers, scattering rose petals on the floor, make their way around the arena.

As they depart from the gate they came in from, trumpets from the balcony sound. Rachel looks over to see the orator in his ridiculous, white wig call out for the crowd's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with your host—Caeles Julius Andronicus!"

The crowd erupts as the southern gate opens, revealing a horse-drawn chariot carrying the emperor's cousin—adorned in a richly-embroidered purple toga with a golden wreath atop his head. He is followed by the Senate, and Rachel easily spots her father, Hirrus, among them. Even though things between them are tense, she can't help but get caught up in the moment and cheer for him.

Curtius nudges her lightly with his elbow and points as the group directly behind the Senate arrives—high-ranking soldiers, including her papa, General Leon, and Curtius's father, Lieutenant Brutus. They, too, get a rousing applause from the crowd, and Rachel feels a mixture of pride and sadness. Her papa is a great man, but she wishes things weren't so complicated right now.

The procession complete, Andronicus, the senators, and the soldiers finally make their way to their seats. Mindful of the venue they are in, Rachel greets her fathers with as much grace as she can. She offers a more genuine smile to Brutus, who thankfully ignores the tension that exists between fathers and daughter as he settles into his seat and helps himself to the food spread.

Rachel turns her attention back to the arena, eager for the Games to finally begin.

* * *

"Ladies and gentleman!" the orator announces as the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the arena floor. "Today, you have seen man and beast pitted against one another in this arena! You have seen the bloody executions of condemned criminals of the empire! But—that was only the beginning." He pauses, and Rachel feels her excitement grow along with that of the audience—eager for this portion of the Games. "Your host, Caeles Julius Andronicus, now presents to you the main event of the day—the gladiators!"

The crowd erupts in a roar, and Rachel gets caught up in it as she and Curtius rise to their feet and cheer along with them. She has memorized the order of the matched pairs, and she is anxious to see the fighters due up first—the Spaniard, Saoirse, versus the Thracian, Tertius. Saoirse is left-handed, which is something not seen often—couple that with her gender, and it makes for an entertaining first match.

Rachel watches with rapt attention as each gladiatrix is brought out one-by-one—first the Spaniard, then an African, three Amazons, and, finally, a Brit. Just as Rachel suspected, they are far from a mere novelty. They are skilled fighters, who take down every opponent they face—both large and small—with relative ease, and each fight charges up the audience more than the last. Rachel can't help but appreciate the drama of it all.

But the Games have yet to reach their climax, and she's anxious to see who comes out from behind the gate next, especially since she's heard murmurings about this particular fighter for quite some time.

"We have saved the very best for last," the orator declares. "The captured warrior princess from Gaul—Quinn!"

The gate on the west end of the arena opens, revealing a young woman who steps onto the sands as if she owns them—a smirk playing at her lips as she soaks up the adulation of the crowd. Rachel's breath catches in her throat as she takes in the sight of the gladiatrix before her. Simply put, the Gaul is gorgeous. Her hair looks as if it's spun from fine gold, and her eyes shine with a feral intensity. Rachel has never seen anything quite like her before.

"And facing her, the mighty Sarmatian—Tatius!"

"Are they kidding?" Brutus asks in disbelief.

Rachel looks at him in confusion, noticing a similar expression on Curtius's face. But the second the gate opens revealing the Gaul's opponent, Rachel understands the lieutenant's comment.

The crowd howls with delight as the heavily armored gladiator rides into the arena on horseback, his contus held up overhead with one hand, showing off his strength.

"She's dead," Curtius states dryly.

"Don't say that," Rachel says sharply. Granted, this doesn't look to be a favorable match up for the Gaul at all. And yet, Quinn shows absolutely no outward sign of fear. In fact, her smirk only grows wider, and it sends a subtle thrill through Rachel. She loves the gladiatrix's confidence.

A trumpet sounds, indicating the fight can commence. For a moment, the two gladiators simply stare each other down from opposite ends of the arena, causing the anticipation in the crowd to spike.

Grasping his weapon with both hands, Tatius suddenly lets out a roar as he digs his heels into his mount—spurring the horse into a full run toward Quinn.

The Gaul fearlessly stands her ground, and, to Rachel's utter bewilderment, she actually drops her shield. Rachel can't help but tense up, waiting for the heavy lance of the Sarmatian to impale Quinn and leave her a bloodied heap on the sands of the arena floor.

Just as Tatius's weapon is about to make contact, she crouches and rolls beneath the horse—slashing her gladius up and cutting through the leather of the saddle—and into the horse's hide.

The animal lets out a pained scream as its rider is thrown from its back, landing with a loud thud onto his left side. Quinn hastily moves to avoid being kicked by the injured horse, while keeping her eyes on her opponent, who is slow to get to his feet.

Rachel wishes she could see his face beneath his helmet, but it's clear the fall has shaken him. Rachel thinks if not for the panicking animal in the way, he'd be at the end of the Gaul's sword already.

Quinn mercifully puts the horse out of its misery, slitting its throat in one smooth motion. Rachel winces as she watches the gorgeous animal fall dead to the ground. _At least it's not suffering anymore_ , she thinks.

Finally back on his feet, Tatius chooses to forget about his lance, and Rachel thinks it a wise decision, as it seems like it would be too unwieldy to fight with on foot, especially now that he's been injured. Instead, he pulls out a short sword from his belt.

But Quinn is ready for him. He thrusts his blade toward Quinn's unarmored chest, but she easily parries the strike before countering with one of her own. They trade blows for several minutes—their swords clashing loudly—but neither of them land a hit on each other.

Rachel doesn't dare blink as she shifts to the edge of her seat.

Quinn is magnificent. Her muscles ripple beneath sun-kissed skin with every movement, and Rachel is suddenly overcome with a sensation she's only experienced a few times in her life—an intense longing that she can only think to describe as pure want. She relishes the feeling as her eyes drink in the sight of the powerful Gaul.

Quinn's face suddenly breaks out into an amused smile, and Rachel wonders if the Gaul is simply toying with Tatius, because she doesn't seem to be tiring at all, whereas he looks like he doesn't have much left in him.

Her suspicions are confirmed moments later when Quinn quickly changes tactics and stabs her gladius into the Sarmatian's thigh—one of the few places he isn't covered in armor—before jumping back and out of range of his sword.

He yells in pain and falls to one knee, and the crowd cheers at the sight of blood dripping from Quinn's blade and from his wound. Not hesitating for a second, Quinn slashes her blade down onto Tatius's right hand—the Sarmatian too slow to avoid it—and causes him to lose his secondary weapon.

She kicks her sandaled foot at his helmeted-head, knocking him back and causing the crowd's cheers to amplify. She quickly moves to grab his fallen sword and turns to face him, only to find that his finger is held up, signaling a reprieve. A displeased groan sounds throughout the Colosseum.

Quinn gazes up at the imperial box as Tatius lays on the ground, chest heaving in agony as he awaits his fate. Andronicus lets the crowd decide, and they predictably call out for more blood. The host smiles and holds his thumb to the side.

The Gaul twirls both swords with ease before stabbing them down into her opponent's throat and ending his life. She releases the blades and raises her arms up in victory, turning in a circle as she stares up at the crowd.

"Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!" they chant, and Rachel does it right along with them, wishing that somehow, out of the tens of thousands of people here, Quinn would meet her gaze.

"That girl is something," her papa says, clapping along with the crowd as he shakes his head in awe, and suddenly Rachel is hit with an idea.

"Papa, Father," she says, turning to face her fathers. "I would like to request that we throw a party in honor of the Gladiatrices and their victories in the arena."

"That's a fantastic idea, Rachel," her father replies with a large grin, and her papa looks elated that she finally spoke to them genuinely. Her father immediately turns to one of his servants. "Extend an invitation to Silvanus and her gladiatrices. Tell them they are invited to a feast in their honor tomorrow evening at my home."

"Yes, Senator," the servant replies before scurrying off.

Rachel smiles. She doesn't know if her fathers agreed to the party because they are trying to extend an olive branch to her or if they are doing it for their own political gain, as this party is sure to include several high-ranking officials. But she finds she doesn't really care what their motivation is so long as she gets what she wants.

Curtius looks at her curiously. "What are you up to?"

"Going after what I want while I still can," she replies, drinking in the sight of the beautiful and victorious Gaul, not knowing what tomorrow will bring but looking forward to it more than anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters making their first appearance or are first mentioned in this chapter: Senator Romulus = Rod Remington | Antonia = Andrea Carmichael | Senator Herenus = Henri St. Pierre | Consul Brochus = Bryan Ryan | Tertia = Terri Schuster | Praetor Urbanus Duvianus = David Martinez | Hostia = Holly Holliday | Cardea = Carole Hudson
> 
> I didn't give them names, but the musicians appearing in this chapter are the McKinley High Jazz Band plus Brad.

Quinn tosses and turns on her mat, unable to get comfortable. It's hot in her cell, and she's far too restless to sleep.

The night after fighting in the Games always stirs up a conflicting mix of emotions for her, and tonight is no exception. Her body still thrums with excess energy from her fight in the arena, except it's now tinged with the familiar anxiety that comes from being stuck in an enclosed space.

She feels like a caged animal.

Staring at the bars of her cell, she realizes she's not much different from one.

It's ironic, Quinn thinks, that she is now the "captured barbarian Gaul"—a spoil of war who exists only to entertain the Romans and remind them of the greatness of their empire.

They love her, of course, and every time the crowd chants her name, it's exhilarating. But deep down, she knows her father would be disappointed in what she's become—a slave to the people he once was so sure they'd conquer. It makes her feel guilty for reveling in their adulation, as well as the satisfaction she feels from the other girls congratulating her on her victories.

After all, they're hollow victories. Her owner is the one who really reaps the rewards, and there's always a touch of bitterness that comes when Silvanus takes the laurel crown from her head before locking her up in a tiny cell once more.

It's times like these that she wishes she had Britt's outlook on things. She's tried to make the best of what she has now, but it's hard. Unlike the other girls, who have a real chance at freedom, she doesn't have anything to look forward to except her next fight.

Another fight that will undoubtedly lead her right back to where she is now—trapped in her own head and wondering if she'll ever be able to reconcile the pain of her past and the trappings of her present.

* * *

"Rough night?" Mhonum asks knowingly as Quinn takes a seat next to her in the mess hall.

She shrugs, not really wanting to talk about it. "It's nothing I can't handle," she replies, helping herself to her breakfast.

"Tonight's party will cure whatever ails you," Sukie says from her seat across from Quinn—her Latin rapidly improving over the last few months.

"Not unless she takes that stick out of her ass first," Saoirse comments snidely.

"Excuse me for not enjoying men groping me while I'm trying to eat," she shoots back, shuddering at the memory of the last party they attended in Genua.

"You need to lighten up. Drink a little more wine," Saoirse encourages with a glint in her eye. " _Let go_ for once."

"Saoirse's right," Britt chimes in. "Besides, the Romans aren't so bad. They can be a lot of fun if you give them a chance."

Quinn shakes her head and looks over at Makelesi for support. She simply shrugs lightly in response as she scoops a spoonful of barley and oats into her mouth. "You're no help," Quinn grumbles.

"Don't blame the girl for wanting to scratch her itch," Saoirse says. "When was the last time you did?"

"Do you always have to be so crude?" she mutters, unable to stop the heat that flushes her cheeks.

Mhonum laughs and bumps her shoulder into Quinn's. "You know she's just trying to get a rise out of you. But we'll stick together tonight, okay?"

Despite herself, Quinn smiles at that. "Okay."

She may not have come to terms with her life as a gladiatrix quite as well as some of the other girls have, but Quinn thinks she knows why a lanista's gladiators are called a _familia_. They're the closest thing to family that she has now.

* * *

Silvanus has provided them with new, white tunics for tonight's party. Granted, they are nothing in comparison to the loose, textured white robe her owner is wearing—something Quinn has learned is common among members of the Roman upper class while dining—but it's an improvement from what she normally wears.

The other girls are excited for tonight. It will be the first time they have had any leisure time since arriving in Rome, and even though her excitement isn't on par with that of her friends, Quinn is looking forward to a break from Silvanus's brutal training regiment. And despite having to share the company of Romans, Quinn does genuinely enjoy some aspects of these gatherings—the food, the wine, and the entertainment are unlike anything else she's experienced before. She can almost pretend for a few hours that she isn't a gladiator and is an actual human being.

Senator Hirrus's house is enormous—easily dwarfing the governor of Genua's home, which was the location of the last party they attended. Upon their arrival, they are ushered through the home's vestibule and into a large, sunlit atrium where their hosts await them.

Two men, one of whom Quinn presumes is Senator Hirrus, greet Silvanus with a smile, and Quinn takes that moment to look around the room. Like in the governor's home, there's a statue of some Roman god in the middle of the atrium, which is surrounded by a shallow pool of water. The walls are painted deep greens and gold with red accents, with lavish furnishings placed throughout the room. It's in such a stark contrast to the ludus—everything is clean and optimized for comfort.

Several wealthy looking men and women of various ages are scattered throughout the room, drinking what Quinn assumes is wine as they chat with one another. The gladiatrices arrival has not gone unnoticed—there are a few pairs of hungry eyes already on them, and Quinn has to do her best not to sneer at them.

She then notices a Roman boy with striking blue eyes watching her. His gaze is different from the others—he looks upon her with curiosity, completely absent of desire, and she gets the distinct impression that he knows something. She raises a questioning eyebrow at him, but he remains unfazed as he takes a sip from his goblet.

"You're welcome. It's important to give back, and gracing you all with my presence is a matter of civic duty," Quinn catches Silvanus inform their hosts. "Perhaps my unrivaled ability to attain victory will rub off on you, General."

Quinn rolls her eyes at how her owner views herself as the gods' gift to the world. The blue-eyed boy catches her doing it and smirks at her.

"Let me introduce you to my gladiatrices," Silvanus continues, bringing Quinn's attention away from him and back to their hosts. "Despite the fact that they were raised by barbarians, I've managed to house train them, so you can rest easy."

The men laugh at her comment, and Quinn's temper flares. But she bites her tongue, reminding herself that it won't do any good to cause a scene. The thought makes her realize that she actually _is_ trained now—a thought that makes her internally wince—but speaking out and embarrassing her lanista will only result in a beating. It's not worth it.

They are formally introduced to their hosts, Senator Hirrus and General Leon, and then the rest of the introductions are made. Quinn learns the blue-eyed boy is Curtius, the son of Lieutenant Brutus, who is also in attendance. Being in the company of members of the Roman military is a sore point—not just for her but for the Amazons, and Quinn doesn't miss the look of disdain on their faces.

Fortunately, Leon and Brutus are the only two soldiers present. Everyone else is a politician of some sort—Senator Romulus and his wife, Antonia; Senator Herenus; Consul Brochus and his wife, Tertia; Praetor Urbanus Duvianus and his sister, Hostia.

After introductions are finished, their hosts lead them out of the atrium and through their home toward the dining room. Quinn walks alongside Mhonum near the back of the group, while Curtius and Hostia take up the rear.

"Will your daughter be joining us tonight?" Romulus asks their hosts.

"Yes, she will be joining us later. She has a little something special to share with us this evening," Hirrus replies, sharing a smile with Leon.

"Do you know anything about what she has planned?" Hostia asks Curtius.

"I do," he replies, and Quinn feels his eyes on her again. She doesn't know whether or not to be annoyed by the fact, but he doesn't seem to want anything from her, so she tries to ignore it. "I haven't had the pleasure of hearing it, as she wants it to be a surprise, but I just know it's going to be beautiful."

"I'm looking forward to it," Hostia replies, her smile evident in her voice, and Quinn finds that her curiosity is piqued.

Upon entering the dining room, the first thing Quinn notices is a small group of musicians set up at the front of the room. She smiles to herself at the sight. If there is one thing she enjoys most about these parties, it's this. Music is a rare treat.

Hirrus informs his guests of the seating order, and everyone settles down on the _triclinum_ —a set of three large chaise lounges set up in a semicircle in the back half of the dining room. The table is already set for its guests, and two female slaves—one redhead and one blonde—wait with pitchers of wine in hand.

To be honest, Quinn finds the dining habits of the upper-class Romans to be odd. She would prefer to sit around a table like she usually does for meals instead of reclining on couches. However, she can't deny that the food served is beyond anything they're given at the ludus.

She's been assigned a place at the very end of the third couch, with Mhonum next to her and Curtius on the other side of her friend. Quinn's grateful for small favors, seeing as the rest of the girls are interspersed with the soldiers, politicians, and their wives. Based on past experience, she knows that as these parties go on, guests tend to indulge in more carnal pleasures.

And unlike her sisters in arms, Quinn has been reluctant to "scratch her itch" as Saoirse so bluntly stated earlier. It's not that she doesn't have the desire to. If anything, catching Saoirse and Britt liplocked on more than one occasion has made her very curious about it—not that she'd ever admit that to them. But no one has ever appealed to her enough for her to want to go for it. Tonight's company is no exception, and she doubts that will change—even with a few glasses of wine in her—so she'd rather not spend her time fending off potential admirers.

"What do you think of him?" Mhonum asks quietly, leaning into Quinn while discreetly pointing toward the spot next to her.

Quinn looks at her friend in surprise. "Curtius?"

She nods, lips curving up into a smile.

Quinn glances at the boy in question who is busy looking at Duvianus with barely disguised lust. "He's cute," she says, "but I get the feeling he's not really into girls."

Mhonum turns her head to see for herself and lets out a soft chuckle. "Just my luck."

A sharp clinking sound rings through the dining room then, capturing the guests' attention. Quinn turns to see Hirrus banging his spoon against his goblet.

"Once again, thank you all for coming this evening. Before the first course is served, I would like to present you with something very special," he says with a proud smile. "As several of you know, my daughter, Rachel, is an incredibly talented musician. Her voice is a gift from Euterpe herself."

Quinn perks up at this and looks to the front of the room. She is not at all prepared for the absolute vision that walks through doorway, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the stunningly beautiful young woman before her.

A sleeveless white robe flows and hugs Rachel's body in all the right places, and its plunging neckline offers a teasing glimpse of flawless, tanned skin. Her ensemble is accented beautifully by golden bracelets and necklaces. Dark brown tresses are braided and pulled up, with a few loose curls framing her face. But the most striking thing about the girl is her eyes—deep brown orbs that lock on Quinn with an intensity that she is not at all prepared for. No one has ever looked at her quite like that before, and it makes her heart speed up in response.

Almost reluctantly, and to Quinn's disappointment, Rachel breaks her gaze and looks toward the cithara player. Taking his cue, he begins to play a simple melody, and a hush falls over the room—every pair of eyes fixated on the singer.

Rachel turns back to face her audience, closes her eyes, and inhales.

And then she opens her mouth and sings, and Quinn actually stops breathing for a moment.

Rachel's voice is unlike anything Quinn has ever heard before. Despite not understanding the words being sung, she can feel the emotion the other girl pours into her performance, and Quinn can't help but be completely enthralled. Goosebumps form along her skin as she loses herself in the song and the sound of Rachel's voice. She almost can't believe that music can make her feel so good.

As soon as the final note fades, the room breaks out into enthusiastic applause, and Rachel beams. Quinn thinks she's never seen anyone look so happy, and she can't help but smile along with the girl as she claps for her, unable to take her eyes off the singer.

Rachel casts another glance and a small smile in Quinn's direction before turning to face Hirrus and Leon. She walks over to them, greeting them both with a kiss to their cheeks. The slaves begin to bring in the first course—some kind of egg dish, small rolls sprinkled with poppy-seed and honey, hot sausages, olives, shellfish, thrushes, asparagus, a fatted hen, goat, and wild boar—but Quinn finds the food to be the least interesting thing in the room at the moment.

Hazel eyes track Rachel as she makes her way around the triclinum, saying hello to those she knows and introducing herself to those she doesn't—and soaking up all the compliments she receives along the way.

It's not until Rachel begins to make her way over to the couch she's reclining on that Quinn starts to grow uncharacteristically nervous. She reaches for the goblet of wine that the redheaded slave has just topped off, and Mhonum, obviously noticing something is up, looks at her strangely as she takes a long pull from it, hoping it will calm her nerves.

"That was amazing, Rachel," Curtius says, reaching his hand out to squeeze hers.

"I agree—absolutely gorgeous. Did you write that yourself?" Hostia asks.

"Thank you. I did," Rachel confirms with a hint of pride, and Quinn can't help but be impressed.

She watches as Rachel and Curtius share a brief silent conversation with their eyes. It reminds her a little bit of how she and Seanloach would communicate with each other while hunting, not wanting to make a sound and scare off their prey.

Hazel eyes glaze over as her mind wanders back to Arverni—the two of them racing each other through the forest behind the fortified city. Thinking of her cousin is less painful than it once was, but she still misses him terribly.

Rachel stepping directly into her line of sight thankfully breaks Quinn out of her thoughts. The scent of cinnamon perfume wafts in her direction as Rachel climbs onto the couch and settles down next to Quinn. Her heart begins to pick up speed at her close proximity, and Quinn wishes it would slow down.

"Hi," Rachel says, offering her a warm smile, and Quinn finds that it settles her a bit. "I'm Rachel."

"Quinn," she replies with a small smile of her own, trying not to lose herself in brown eyes. She blinks, attempting to remember her manners. "You have an amazing voice. I've never heard someone sing like that before."

Rachel blushes, her smile growing bigger. "Thank you, Quinn."

She decides that she likes the way her name sounds when Rachel says it. "I wish I had understood the words though. What language were you singing in?"

"Hebrew," she replies. "It's the language of my mother's people."

Quinn looks at her curiously. "You mean you're not Roman? Is that why your name sounds so different from everyone else around here?"

"I'm half Roman," she explains, glancing over at Leon as she plucks a few olives from the platter. "My papa met my mother in Judea during the Third Mithridatic War. She's the one who named me Rachel—after her grandmother. When I was five, my mother fell ill, and after she died, my papa took me back to his homeland."

"I'm sorry about your mother," she replies, knowing full well what it's like to lose a parent.

"It was a long time ago," Rachel says with a shrug. "I don't really remember her very well."

Quinn nods, although she finds herself a little confused. "So how does Senator Hirrus figure into things?"

"He and my papa met shortly after we got to Rome." Quinn doesn't miss the tension in Rachel's voice. "He eventually adopted me as his own. So I have two fathers now."

She nods again, intrigued by Rachel's family situation. She wants to ask more, but she senses that this isn't really what Rachel wants to be talking about.

"But enough about that," Rachel continues with a wave of her hand before flashing another smile at Quinn. "I'm glad that you enjoyed the song. Do you-"

The clinking of a goblet interrupts Rachel, and a brief look of irritation crosses her features as she reaches for her own glass and turns her attention to the couch directly across from theirs.

Quinn reluctantly tears her gaze away from the girl next to her and back to her hosts, where Leon is holding up his glass. She follows Rachel's lead and holds up her own goblet of wine.

"I would like to make a toast," the general announces. "To Silvanus, our guest of honor this evening. Congratulations on yesterday's victories. You have an impeccable eye for talent, and your training has made your gladiactrices one of the most exciting additions to the Games in a long time."

The rest of the guests echo their sentiments, and Silvanus smiles smugly, clearly pleased as she takes a sip of wine from her glass.

Everyone else follow suit, and the room then breaks out in conversation as the music picks up again. Quinn drains her goblet.

"Speaking of the Games…" Rachel says, placing her hand on Quinn's forearm, causing a pleasant warmth to course through her at the contact and drawing her attention back to the gorgeous girl next to her. "You were incredible yesterday," she gushes. "I loved watching you fight. Your skills are to be envied."

Quinn can't help but feel a swell of pride at that. For once, the credit isn't going to her owner, but to her. "My father trained me well," she replies with a bittersweet smile.

"Your father was King Ruaidhri, right?"

There's a sudden, unexpected lump in her throat, and Quinn swallows it down. "Yes."

Rachel looks at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay," Quinn replies, surprised that Rachel would even care. Roman citizens never speak to her like a human being with actual feelings. She is simply there to entertain them. "Anyway, I just meant that I've been training since I was old enough to walk. It's second nature to me."

"It definitely shows, and it's an amazing thing to watch," she says, her voice taking on a flirtatious note. "When is your next fight?"

"I'm not sure, but it will be at least another month."

Rachel's lower lip curves into a pout that Quinn can't help but find both adorable and sexy. "I wish I didn't have to wait so long."

"You really liked watching me that much?" Quinn asks with a pleased smile, feeling herself grow more confident by Rachel's obvious interest in what she does.

"You have no idea," she replies with a smirk before taking a sip of her wine—her painted lips sensuously kissing the edge of her goblet as the red liquid flows between them.

Quinn swallows thickly at the sight and is overcome with the urge to press her mouth against those very lips.

Rachel pulls the goblet away from her mouth and looks at Quinn knowingly before turning to reach for a small, poppy-seed roll. Brown eyes subtly rake over Quinn's body before meeting hazel once more as perfect, white teeth bite into the soft bread. The way Rachel is looking at her combined with how she savors every bite is slowly driving Quinn crazy.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Quinn?" Rachel asks playfully after swallowing the last of her roll, licking the honey from her fingertips.

Quinn blushes a bit, embarrassed by how blatantly she had been staring at Rachel. Fortunately, the other girl doesn't seem put off by it in the slightest.

"You should try the boar," Rachel continues, leaning over to fill Quinn's plate with various delicacies. "My papa says that gladiators don't usually get to eat meat."

"He's right," Quinn says, hoping her blush has faded as she fixes her attention on Rachel's hands, somewhat surprised that someone of her station would do this for her. "We don't usually get sweets either."

"Mmm, then you'll absolutely love dessert. Cardea, our chef—she makes the most delicious cheesecake."

"I look forward to it," Quinn replies with a smile, looking up to meet the other girl's eyes once more—deep brown shining with thinly-veiled desire.

The way Rachel looks at her makes her stomach flutter with excitement, and she can't help but wonder what else there is to look forward to on this night.

* * *

The wine continues to flow, and Rachel's lilting laughter is infectious. Quinn is vaguely aware of the other people in the room—the musicians playing their songs; the slaves bringing in endless amounts of food; Mhonum and Curtius's laughter; Silvanus debating with Romulus and Hirrus; the Amazons flirting with Duvianus; Saoirse and Britt getting cozy with Brochus, Tertia, and Hostia—but she can't take her eyes off Rachel.

Everything about this girl intrigues her. She's not like the other Romans who usually attend these parties. And, sure, somewhere in the back of her mind, Quinn thinks it might have something to do with the fact that she doesn't look Roman or have a Roman name, but that doesn't change the fact that Rachel _is_ different.

She's beautiful, intelligent, talented, and genuinely interested in Quinn—and not just for her body. That much she can tell, although as dinner goes on, it's becoming more apparent that Rachel is attracted to her—an attraction that is definitely mutual. Their conversation has taken on a decidedly flirtatious tone, but the main reason Quinn has allowed it to even go there is because of how Rachel is treating her—like a real person.

"I could use some fresh air," Rachel says, peering up at her through long lashes after they finish off the last of their dessert. "Would you like to see the garden, Quinn?"

"I'd like that," she replies in a tone that sounds almost foreign to her—her voice laden with desire.

Rachel smiles at her as she moves off the couch and comes to stand. Her brown eyes are filled with a promise of things to come as she extends a hand, and Quinn feels her heart speed up in response. She swallows down the rest of her wine before taking Rachel's hand, allowing herself to be drawn up to her feet and led out of the dining room.

As they're about to pass through the doorway, they both cast a quick glance back. Curtius shoots Rachel a knowing look while Mhonum shakes her head playfully at Quinn. Everyone else is otherwise too occupied to notice their departure, which Quinn is grateful for—especially in regards to their hosts.

Rachel doesn't let go of her hand as they step onto the peristyle that surrounds the garden. They walk around it in silence for a few moments—Quinn enjoying the pleasant buzz from the wine and the feeling of soft skin against the hard callus of her own palm.

She's glad to leave the din of the party. Things were definitely starting to get a little rowdy, and she wants nothing more than to enjoy these moments alone with Rachel—away from prying eyes.

She steals a glance at the girl beside her, enjoying the way the flickering torchlight makes her tanned skin appear even softer. She wants so badly to kiss her, but she also knows that she has to let Rachel be the one to initiate it. Despite how much Rachel has treated her with respect, Quinn knows her place—she's still a slave, and if she's somehow read this situation all wrong? Quinn shudders to think about the beating she would get for being so forward with a patrician.

"This way," Rachel says after a moment, pulling Quinn into a darkened corner and lightly pushing her back against the wall, taking her by surprise.

"So I guess I'm not actually seeing the garden," Quinn muses with a half smile as she gazes down at the other girl—her pulse quickening at Rachel's close proximity.

"Well, if you'd rather do that, we can," she replies with teasing smile as small fingers play against the palm of Quinn's hand, causing delicious tingles to course through her at the contact.

Quinn shakes her head slightly, indicating that she wants to stay exactly where she is right now. The air between them is thick with tension. Quinn wants to act, but she's afraid of making the wrong move. But that look of intensity is ever-present in Rachel's eyes, and Quinn can't hold back any more. She licks her lips and lets out a steadying breath.

"I really want to kiss you right now," she confesses as she shifts closer to Rachel.

Brown eyes darken, and a bold hand slips into blonde locks, drawing Quinn's head down—their breaths mingling. "So kiss me," she husks before pushing up onto the balls of her feet and capturing Quinn's mouth in a passionate kiss. Hazel eyes flutter shut and a jolt of pleasure surges through her body at the feeling of Rachel's soft, full lips moving against hers.

Rachel's mouth is sweet—faint traces of honey and wine linger on her tongue—and Quinn moans softly at the taste as she deepens the kiss. Her hands find purchase on Rachel's hips, and fingers tighten around the fabric of her robe as she flips their positions—taking control and pressing Rachel's back against the wall of the peristyle.

Kissing Rachel makes Quinn feel like her entire body is ablaze—every press of their lips and swipe of their tongues fuels Quinn's desire for the smaller girl. This is unknown territory for her, but the courage from the wine and the way Rachel feels pressed against her, the way she responds to her kisses—little nips against her lower lip as she lets out small gasps of pleasure—make her not worry as much about her inexperience.

Rachel's fingers tighten in blonde hair as Quinn breaks their kiss and trails her mouth along the girl's jaw and down to the column of her throat—nipping lightly at soft skin, eager to taste more of her.

"We," she gasps as Quinn softly suckles her pulse point, "we should go to my room."

Quinn lets out an involuntary moan against Rachel's neck at the suggestion and feels a rush of nervous excitement, having a good idea what will happen if she follows Rachel back to her room.

And she wants it. Oh, does she want it.

She draws her head up and looks at the beautiful young woman in her arms. Their breathing is heavy—Rachel's skin lightly flushed, lips swollen from kissing, and dark eyes shining with lust—and Quinn feels her own arousal grow.

"Lead the way," she husks.

Rachel tangles her fingers with Quinn's once more and leads her through the garden and back into her home. Part of her can't even believe this is happening, but despite how unexpected this all is, it's not at all unwelcome.

Moments later, they arrive to what Quinn assumes is Rachel's bedroom. She barely has time to take in the décor before small hands fist themselves into the front of her tunic and pull her back in for another heated kiss.

Quinn moans softly—her body surging with a fresh wave of desire as Rachel's tongue moves against hers—and is vaguely aware of being pushed backwards. The backs of her knees hit the soft edge of Rachel's mattress, and she lets herself be guided down onto the other girl's bed.

She lets out a soft groan of appreciation as her back hits the mattress, causing Rachel to pull back and raise a questioning eyebrow as she lifts up her robe and straddles Quinn.

"It's been a long time since I've been on a bed," she explains, voice raspy from kisses that leave her breathless and the feel of Rachel's bare calves pressing against the outside of her thighs.

There's a flash of something in Rachel's eyes that Quinn can't quite interpret—something she thinks might be jealousy or possessiveness—but whatever it is, she likes it. It makes her feel wanted. "I imagine you're quite popular not just in the arena but outside of it," she says, eyes trailing down Quinn's supine form.

"No, you're actually the first person I've done this with," she admits, placing her hands on Rachel's hips and gently circling her thumbs.

Brown eyes widen in surprise. "Surely someone as beautiful as you would have no shortage of admirers."

"Oh, I have admirers," Quinn explains with a smirk. "I just usually don't like them very much." Her hands slide up Rachel's sides and curve around her upper back, pulling down the gorgeous girl atop her until she's flush against her body. Hazel gaze meaningfully into deep brown. "But you're different," she confesses before capturing Rachel's top lip between her own.

Rachel moans in response and tangles her fingers in blonde tresses—her fingernails lightly scratching against Quinn's scalp. Her words seem to have sparked something in Rachel as her kisses grow hungrier and her touch more possessive.

Slender hips begin to rock against her, and Quinn gasps into Rachel's mouth as her fingers tighten in silk. Rachel feels so, so good, but she needs more.

Rachel shifts on top of her then, slipping a thigh between her legs, and Quinn feels warm, damp cotton press against the top of her own thigh. She lets out a long groan at the feeling of the other girl's arousal and slides her hands down Rachel's back. She then boldly slips them beneath her robe, gripping onto the smooth skin of Rachel's backside and squeezing. Rachel moans and deepens their kiss as she presses herself further into Quinn.

She lets her instincts take over and begins slowly rocking against Rachel in a primal rhythm. Rachel doesn't miss a beat and meets Quinn thrust for thrust, sending another rush of pleasure through her.

It's all-consuming—the smell of Rachel's perfume, the taste of her tongue against hers, the warm weight pressing down on her, and the way her thigh pushes against her _just so_.

It sets her on fire and soothes her all at once.

There's a pressure coiling low in her belly, and Quinn picks up her pace—reaching for _something_. Eventually, Rachel breaks their kiss—panting against Quinn's mouth and gazing intently into hazel eyes. Quinn breathes heavily as she meets every thrust of Rachel's hips with her own, never breaking their gaze.

Moments later, Rachel's body begins to tremble above her—fingers tightening almost painfully in her hair. Brown eyes shut tightly, her brow furrows beautifully, and her mouth falls open as she comes undone on top of Quinn.

Quinn swears she's never seen a more beautiful sight in her life.

Rachel releases a breathy whimper against her lips and that's all it takes for Quinn to tumble over the edge—her body stiffens, eyes wide, and her mouth falls open in a silent cry as a bolt of white-hot pleasure bursts through the center of her body and spreads out to the tips of her fingers and toes.

It's unlike anything she's ever experienced before, and it's almost overwhelming.

Not knowing what else to do, she grabs Rachel's head—fingers threading through brunette locks—and draws the girl in for another kiss. It's different from all the ones that came before. It's sloppy and intense, and Quinn pours all her gratitude into it—quietly thanking Rachel for making her forget, just for a little while, what she really is.


	7. Chapter 7

"You think this is hard?" Silvanus shouts, her voice cutting through the training yard. "Try scaling down Mount Vesuvius while it's erupting—that's hard!"

Quinn curses under her breath as she pushes through a series of power squats. She's holding up a wooden bar weighted with buckets of water, and it digs uncomfortably into her shoulders and neck. Her muscles burn, and her tunic is absolutely drenched from the heat of the summer sun beating down on her. Silvanus has been relentless with their training the last three days—adding extra repetitions to make up for lost time from the party earlier in the week.

The sound of water sloshing and splattering against the sand can be heard behind her. From her position, Quinn can't see who the culprit is, but she grimaces, bracing herself for the scolding she knows is coming.

"Sloppy, Harmonia! Very sloppy!" Silvanus berates her before shifting her gaze to the entire group. "I don't want to see another drop of water spill! And I want the agony out of your eyes!"

* * *

"I'm exhausted," Sukie says, plopping down on a bench in the mess hall. "My muscles feel like mush."

" _Omoios_ ," Makelesi says tiredly, rubbing at her shoulder.

Saoirse rolls her eyes. "In Latin please?"

"She agree with Sukie," Harmonia supplies in broken Latin before beginning to fill up her plate with the food Bestia left on the table for them—boiled beans mixed with ash.

Quinn eyes it disdainfully before ladling out some for herself. "I can handle Silvanus going harder on us, but this is really making me miss the food we had at the senator's house."

"I'm sure that's not the only thing from his house that you miss," Saoirse comments with a slight smirk and a teasing glint in her eye. "You still haven't told us where you disappeared to the other night."

"And I already told you, it's none of your business," Quinn retorts, her cheeks flushing slightly at the memory.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Quinn," Britt says with a knowing smile. "It's not like you did anything we haven't done before."

"I'm not embarrassed," she insists. "Why would I be? Rachel is beautiful. But what we did isn't something I feel like sharing with you."

"Fine, be that way," Saoirse says, turning her attention on to her food.

There's a lull in the conversation as the girls busy themselves with eating their dinner, and Quinn is grateful for it. She likes Saoirse most of the time, but the girl always seems to know how to needle her.

Saoirse isn't wrong though. Quinn does miss Rachel, and while she would love to see her again, she knows that it's not up to her. Still, she is grateful for the night they had together. What Quinn shared with Rachel was beyond anything she's ever experienced before, and the memories from that night are something Quinn cherishes.

"You up for a rematch tonight?" Mhonum asks from her usual seat beside Quinn, interrupting her musings.

"Quinn, Silvanus wants to see you," Bestia interrupts before she can answer.

She turns to look at the trainer standing in the doorway and raises a questioning eyebrow, but no answers are forthcoming. She casts a glance at her fellow slaves, who look at her a little worriedly. The last time Silvanus came for her, she ended up being branded, although she's fairly certain she's done nothing to merit punishment in the eyes of her owner. If anyone "earned" it today, it's Harmonia.

"I hope she's in a better mood now than she was earlier today," Britt says.

"Me too, Britt," Quinn replies as she gets up from her seat and heads toward the door. _Me too._

"This way, Quinn," Bestia tells her before turning to walk down the narrow hallway.

"Do you know what Silvanus wants?" Quinn asks as she follows her up a flight of stairs she's never been allowed on before.

"I'm afraid I don't," she replies. "I don't think it's anything bad, but she is admittedly a little unpredictable."

"A little?" Quinn retorts.

Bestia lets out a low chuckle. "Okay, a lot. But I think you'll be okay."

They enter an atrium, and Quinn's eyes widen in surprise as she takes in the sight of the lavishly decorated room. She had no idea Silvanus had a villa atop the ludus. She resents it a little—knowing that normally she's never allowed up here and has to sleep in the barracks.

Coming to a stop just outside the door to Silvanus's office, Bestia says, "Go on in. I'll wait for you out here."

Quinn nods at her and then steps into the room, where Silvanus is sitting at her desk busily writing on a scroll. "You wanted to see me, Silvanus?" Quinn asks.

"I did," she replies, setting her quill down and gesturing toward a wooden chair across from her. "Take a seat."

Quinn obeys and looks at Silvanus expectantly.

The lanista leans back in her chair slightly and regards Quinn thoughtfully before speaking. "You know, from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you had the potential to become one of the best fighters I ever had. And despite getting off to a rocky start under my ownership, you've thrived in the arena."

"I have," she agrees without a trace of humility.

"You've brought me a great deal of fortune already, and I want to make sure that continues," Silvanus says before her lips curve up into a slight smirk. "Normally, I turn all of your admirers away because I know you have no interest in them. But don't think I didn't notice you sneaking off with Senator Hirrus's daughter the other night."

That throws Quinn a bit, and she blushes slightly. "What of it?"

"She's expressed interest in seeing you again. And, frankly, I'd rather you girls take care of your urges with patricians than with whores. Saves me money and dignity."

Quinn can't stop the rush of happiness that comes from the fact that Rachel wants to see her again, and it's enough to offset the irritation she feels from the entirely business-like way Silvanus is approaching this. But Quinn knows it's to be expected. After all, in Silvanus's eyes, she's not a person—she's a commodity.

"So, what'll it be? Do you want to see her, or should I tell her to hit the road?"

"She's here?" Quinn asks, surprised.

Silvanus nods, looking almost amused.

"I want to see her."

"Fine," she replies. "Bestia!" she shouts, and the trainer quickly steps into the room.

"Yes, Silvanus?"

"Take Quinn to the guest room and then retrieve her in two candlemarks," she explains. "Now both of you get out of my presence. I have more pressing matters to attend to." She waves them away with her hand and turns her attention back to the scroll on her desk.

Quinn can barely suppress the smile that's threatening as she leaves Silvanus's office. She almost can't believe Rachel's here and that she's mere minutes away from seeing her again. Any tiredness she felt from today's grueling regiment is now long gone, replaced by a nervous excitement.

They cut through the atrium once more, and Bestia merely points in the direction of one of the rooms. "It's that one over there," she says, smiling knowingly at Quinn. "I'll be back later. Try not to have me walk in on anything you don't want me to see."

Quinn blushes and wrings her hands together, wishing that whatever it is that's happening between her and Rachel was a little more private around the ludus. She briefly wonders what Saoirse will say when she gets wind of this, but that thought quickly passes as she focuses her attention on the doorway that leads to the girl who has occupied much of her thoughts recently.

She lets out a steadying breath, trying to reign in her excitement, before pulling back the curtain and stepping inside the small room. Letting the curtain fall behind her, Quinn immediately seeks out Rachel, who is sitting on a chaise lounge. Large, brown eyes instantly connect with hers, and Quinn doesn't miss the look of relief that passes over the girl's face.

Rachel rises from her seat, smoothing down the front of her light pink stola as she continues to meet Quinn's gaze. "It's good to see you again, Quinn," she says, smiling coquettishly at her.

"Likewise," Quinn replies, taking in the sight of the other girl. She looks positively stunning—her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup impeccable—and Quinn suddenly feels a little self-conscious about her appearance. Last time Rachel saw her, Quinn was wearing a new tunic, but now she's back in one of her old, blue training tunics. It's clean at least, but it's faded and tattered.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," Rachel says, stepping into Quinn's space—the familiar scent of cinnamon perfume hitting her nostrils—and gazing up at her with a mixture of desire and affection.

Quinn feels her heart swell, and some of her self-consciousness fades as her lips curve up into a smile at Rachel's admission. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you either."

Rachel's smile grows even wider at that, and her eyes rake over Quinn's form. "You look even more beautiful than you did the other night," she says, reaching up with her right hand and running her fingers through blonde hair still damp from the basin.

Quinn unconsciously glances down at herself and shakes her head in disbelief as she meets Rachel's eyes once more.

"No, I mean it," Rachel insists, her eyes darkening as her hand trails down to the front of Quinn's tunic. Her fingers play with the material near her collarbone, causing Quinn's pulse to quicken. "I like this look on you. It's more like what you wear in the arena. And you know how much I love to watch you fight."

"So you've told me," Quinn replies with a half smile, all traces of self-consciousness gone as she begins to feel the familiar stirrings of desire.

Rachel slides her hand down Quinn's left arm then, her touch sending pleasant ripples through Quinn, before interlacing their fingers together. She sits back down on the chaise and tugs lightly on Quinn's hand, drawing her to sit beside her.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything," Rachel says, resting their joined hands together in her lap.

"You're not," Quinn assures her, again amazed at the fact that Rachel would even take her thoughts and feelings into real consideration.

Rachel looks at her curiously then. "If you weren't up here with me right now, what would you be doing?" she asks.

"Probably tossing some knucklebones around with the other girls," she replies. "But honestly, I'd much rather be here with you than playing games with them."

Rachel smiles, and it makes Quinn feel warm inside. "What games do you play?"

"Mostly _tali_. Bestia taught us how to play—gives us something to do on our down time."

"Do you even get much down time?"

Quinn laughs a little. "Not really. Besides, we're usually too exhausted from training to enjoy what we do get."

Rachel nods slightly in understanding. "Silvanus seems fairly intense from what I can tell," she says, tracing her fingers along the stigma on the back of Quinn's hand.

Quinn tenses at that. It's a strange dichotomy—Rachel's touch itself is pleasant, but what she's touching suddenly reminds her of her place and just how far she has fallen.

Rachel stills her fingers and looks intently at Quinn, eyes shining with something that looks like regret. "I'm sorry. I seem to have a knack for upsetting you."

She shakes her head. "It's not you," Quinn explains. "I just haven't exactly gotten over certain things—things that aren't your fault at all."

"Still," Rachel says, contrite. "Our time together should be spent enjoying ourselves." She leans over and presses a kiss to her jaw, and Quinn feels herself relax instantly at the feeling of Rachel's lips against her skin.

Quinn realizes that Rachel's right. They only have a few candlemarks together, and she should be making the most of it.

She closes her eyes and soaks in the sensation of Rachel's hot mouth moving along her jaw line, before turning her head to capture Rachel's lips in a kiss. Rachel responds eagerly, parting her lips, and Quinn slides her tongue between them. She tastes faintly of mint, and Quinn moans softly at the feeling of their tongues moving against each other.

Quinn shifts her body and untangles her hand from Rachel's, bracing her hands on either side of Rachel's hips. Small hands tangle in her hair, and Quinn surges forward—her kisses growing hungrier with every swipe of their tongues—until Rachel is lying beneath her on the chaise—Quinn's warm weight settled on top of her.

She breaks their kiss and trails her mouth to Rachel's chin and down to her throat, nipping lightly at her pulse point and making Rachel gasp in pleasure. Quinn wants to hear more of that sound and suckles at soft skin. Rachel's left hand stays tangled in her hair, but her right hand moves up and down Quinn's back as she continues to voice her pleasure.

"More, Quinn," Rachel pleads. "I need more of you."

More of what exactly, Quinn isn't sure. She still feels entirely out of her depth when it comes to physical intimacy, but she loves that she can explore it with this beautiful girl beneath her.

So she lets her instinct take over. Continuing to place hot, open-mouthed kisses against Rachel's neck and collarbone, she straddles Rachel's waist. She slides her hands up Rachel's sides and cups her breasts through the silky material of her stola.

Rachel moans and arches up into Quinn's touch, and Quinn smiles against her skin as she gently squeezes and massages, loving being able to touch her like this. Growing bolder, she trails her mouth down to the valley between Rachel's breasts and kisses along the tops of them. Her skin is a little salty to the taste, and Quinn wants more.

And then Rachel's hands are reaching down and pulling at her tunic. Quinn feels it dragging upward, exposing her thighs and backside to the room, and her stomach flips a little at the feeling. She reluctantly draws her head away from Rachel and looks down at her—brown eyes filled with unbridled desire.

"I want this off," Rachel says, her voice raspy, as she continues to tug at Quinn's tunic and pushes them both up to sit.

Quinn swallows thickly and feels her arousal spike as she lets Rachel pull the garment over her head, leaving her bare—save for her loincloth—to Rachel's eyes.

"Gods, you're so gorgeous," Rachel murmurs, surging forward and capturing Quinn's mouth in a heated kiss, her arms wrapping around her upper back and drawing Quinn into her body.

Quinn's eyes flutter shut, and she moans at the feeling of Rachel's lips moving insistently against hers and the silky material of Rachel's stola against her skin. She reaches around Rachel then—her fingers fumbling with the stophium beneath Rachel's breasts.

Never breaking their kiss, Rachel reaches back and assists Quinn—their fingers brushing against each other as the cord is untied and tossed to the side. Quinn eagerly brings her hands up to Rachel's shoulders, slipping them beneath the sleeveless straps of the stola and pulling it down—her fingers caressing the smooth skin of Rachel's arms as she goes.

Rachel removes her arms from the straps, letting the material of her robe pool around her waist. Needing to see her, Quinn breaks their kiss and drinks in the sight of Rachel's bare torso. Without thinking, her hands reach out and cup Rachel's breasts once more, and Quinn thinks they fit perfectly in her hands.

Rachel moans as she watches Quinn touch her, and Quinn swipes a thumb experimentally over a dusky nipple. The reaction is immediate—Rachel gasps and presses into Quinn's hands. She smiles and repeats the movement, eliciting soft sounds of pleasure from Rachel.

Soon small hands are pushing at Quinn's shoulders, guiding her onto her back, and Quinn lets Rachel take over as their positions on the chaise reverse. Rachel straddles her left thigh—damp cotton pressing against her skin—and hovers just above her, allowing Quinn to continue her ministrations to her breasts.

Rachel leans over, panting lightly against Quinn's mouth before connecting their lips and tongues in a hungry kiss. She slips a hand up Quinn's side and then cups one of her breasts with her palm. Quinn moans into her mouth at the sensation, and she feels Rachel smile against her lips.

Quinn is suddenly struck by how incredibly surreal this is—mere candlemarks ago, she was down in the mess hall eating bland food and feeling like she was going to drop from exhaustion, and now she's in the arms of the most gorgeous person she has ever laid eyes on.

Rachel's hand then trails down Quinn's toned stomach and dips into the top of her loincloth. Quinn sucks in a breath as fingertips brush against the top of coarse hair, and Rachel pulls back slightly to gaze intently at Quinn.

There's a possessive look in those brown eyes, and it makes Quinn's heart race and her stomach flutter. Rachel's the first one to ever touch her this way, and Rachel obviously knows it and clearly revels in it. It makes this whole encounter even more intense for Quinn, and she finds herself aching for her touch.

Nimble fingers make quick work of removing her loincloth, and Quinn feels her anticipation grow as she watches those hungry, brown eyes take in the sight of her now nude form. Rachel leans down suddenly, and then there's a warm mouth around her nipple, suckling lightly, and Quinn gasps—her own hands pausing in their pleasuring of Rachel, unable to focus on anything but the feelings the girl atop her is eliciting.

Rachel's hips start to rock, her heated core rubbing against the strong muscle of Quinn's thigh. And then those slender fingers are sliding through her wet folds, and Quinn can't stop the soft cry that escapes her lips as Rachel pushes two fingers inside her.

Quinn's hands fly to Rachel's upper back, drawing her impossibly closer. Rachel feels so unbelievably good, and Quinn starts to lose herself in a haze of pleasure as Rachel begins to thrust in and out of her.

"Kiss me," Quinn gasps out, needing that connection right now.

Never breaking the rhythm of her movements, Rachel places sloppy kisses along Quinn's breastbone, up her neck, and finally against her lips. Their tongues duel as she continues to rock against Quinn's leg. Quinn wants to assist her, but she's too caught up in the feeling of those divine fingers pushing her to the brink and Rachel's naked torso pressed against hers.

It doesn't take long before Rachel starts to tremble above her, but her hand never falters as she lets out a soft cry of pleasure against Quinn's mouth as she comes undone atop her.

Feeling Rachel reach that pinnacle of pleasure against her makes Quinn clench around Rachel's fingers. She's so close now. She buries her head against Rachel's neck, breathing her in, and undulating her hips, meeting Rachel thrust for thrust. Her pleasure is mounting, and then she's coming with a silent cry—her fingers digging harshly into Rachel's back, causing her to whimper softly.

Their breathing slowly begins to even out as they come down, and Rachel gently removes her fingers from inside Quinn, sending another ripple of pleasure through her.

Quinn sighs, sated, and presses her forehead against Rachel's and gazes up into warm, brown eyes that she thinks she might drown in.

A knock against the doorframe breaks the moment, and Quinn looks over in a panic expecting to see Bestia standing there. Fortunately, she has stayed outside, giving them some privacy, but Quinn can't help but feel disappointed that her time with Rachel is already over.

"Will I see you again?" she asks, looking back up at Rachel and hoping against hope that the answer will be yes.

There's a flicker of what Quinn thinks is uncertainty in her eyes, but it's gone before she can be sure. "You will." Rachel nods and presses a kiss to Quinn's lips. "I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

Quinn shakes her right hand—a set of four knucklebones held in a loose fist—as she looks around at the other girls gathered in a circle. _The competition never stops_ , she thinks with a wry smile. The knucklebones rattle against each other in her palm, and Quinn hopes luck is on her side tonight. She needs at least 19 points to keep her winning streak alive.

"Just throw the damn things already," Saoirse huffs from her place across from Quinn.

"Fine," she replies, tossing the knucklebones onto the dirt floor of the barracks.

"Gods, not again," Sukie says with a disbelieving shake of her head as she sees the result of the throw.

"No fair!" Mhonum exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.

"One, three, four, six. Venus trumps all. I win," Quinn declares with a triumphant smirk.

" _Gamiesai_ ," Makelesi mutters, casting Quinn an annoyed look as she leans over and gathers the knucklebones up in her fist.

Quinn turns to look at her and raises a questioning eyebrow. "What?"

"You don't want to know," Harmonia says with a shake of her head and a slight smirk as Sukie chuckles.

Hazel eyes narrow suspiciously. "No, actually, I think I do."

Makelesi grins brazenly at her, and Saoirse laughs. "Whatever she said, I agree. Ever since you started this crazy winning streak, playing with you is no fun."

"I have to agree," Britt says with a slight nod. "I mean, I like you and all, Quinn, but I definitely prefer when you're too busy getting naked with that Roman girl."

Heat instantly rises to Quinn's cheeks, and Saoirse smiles wickedly at the sight. "You're ridiculous, you know," she ribs. "You can stare death in the face without flinching, but the second one of us mentions you bumping uglies with Rachel, you start blushing like a little girl."

"That's because you're always so crass about it," Quinn defends. "And just so you know, that's not all we do."

"Whatever you say, Quinn," Sukie teases, taking the knucklebones from Makelesi and putting them into a small, leather pouch.

Quinn shakes her head but says nothing more, knowing that it will only encourage them. She knows that her reaction to their mentioning her intimacy with Rachel may, in fact, be a little ridiculous, but she can't help it. Just the mere thought of Rachel causes both a soothing warmth and an excited thrill to course through her.

Not only that, but what she has with Rachel is something she wants to keep all for herself. The whole arrangement is still a little surreal to Quinn, but for the first time since her enslavement, she actually has something she genuinely looks forward to. Their time together is like being in another world for a few candlemarks a week—a place where she can almost pretend she's not just a slave. She doesn't know how long it will last, but she's determined to enjoy it for as long as Rachel will see her.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Mhonum asks quietly from her seat beside Quinn.

"How did you know?" she asks, casting a glance at her friend.

"You're smiling," Mhonum replies with one of her own. "You never really did much of that before."

"Told you the Romans could be fun if you just gave them a chance," Britt says knowingly.

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn replies, waving her off, but the smile doesn't leave her face.

"I'm happy for you," Mhonum says, drawing Quinn's attention back to her. "You deserve it after everything."

Quinn is pleasantly taken aback. "Thanks, Mhonum."

The sound of heavy footfalls and clinking metal draw close, signaling the end of their brief leisure time. The gladiatrices look up to see Bestia step into the small room, holding a large ring of keys in her right hand. "Alright, girls, game time is over," she informs them, holding out her left hand, where Sukie deposits the pouch of knucklebones. "Into your cells."

Quinn gets up from her seat on the ground and wipes the dirt off the back of her tunic before following the others toward their cells.

As she settles down on her mat, she can't help but think that Mhonum is right. The last two weeks are the happiest she's been since her enslavement, and it has everything to do with Rachel. Quinn falls asleep with a smile on her face, looking forward to the next time she'll get to spend time with her.

* * *

Quinn's hand trails up a supple thigh as a pair of small hands run up and down her back, urging her on.

"Quinn, please," is moaned against her neck, causing Quinn to shudder in response as she moves her hand closer to the apex of Rachel's legs.

Rachel is _so_ soft, and Quinn loves the way her skin feels against the rough callus of her palm.

But more than that, Quinn loves the way she can make Rachel come apart with her touch—the way she looks when she's in the throes of ecstasy. Quinn takes it all in as she pushes Rachel over the edge—the way her brow furrows and her mouth falls open—and Quinn relishes the feeling of Rachel's fingers digging harshly into her back as her back arches in pleasure.

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of making Rachel feel like this.

Quinn brushes a damp lock of brown hair off of Rachel's forehead and gazes down at her with a soft smile. Rachel returns her gaze with a sated smile of her own, and Quinn feels a surge of affection at the sight. She leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Rachel's lips before drawing back. She's never allowed herself to be like this with anyone before—emotionally or physically—but she can't deny how right it feels.

"You're so beautiful," she says softly—reverently.

Rachel's smile grows, and she leans up to kiss Quinn in response. "I wish Silvanus would let you see me more often," she says after pulling away. "Three candlemarks a week is not enough."

"I do too," Quinn agrees, shifting to settle down beside Rachel on the chaise and drawing the smaller girl into her body, enjoying the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together. "But this is better than nothing. And if I continue to win in the Games, Silvanus will probably let me see you more." The irony of the situation isn't lost on her, and she laughs a little at it.

"What?" Rachel asks, leaning into Quinn and looking up at her with curious eyes.

"When I first heard that one of the perks of being a successful gladiator was the admiration of the Roman upper class, I hated the idea. But yet, nine months later, here I am, with you," she explains with a soft smile.

"Why did you hate it?"

"I hated everything about this place," she replies. "I went from being the daughter of a king to a slave. I wanted to be back in Gaul."

"Do you still miss it?" Rachel asks, her fingers lightly tracing over the scars on Quinn's side—a remnant from the lash of the whip.

"Every day," she replies.

Rachel turns her head then and presses a comforting kiss to Quinn's collarbone. "Tell me about Gaul," she says, nestling into Quinn's side and resting her head on her shoulder. "What's it like?"

Her mind's eye flashes to her last memories of her home—her family strung up on crosses and her city burning to the ground. She swallows thickly and pushes those thoughts out of her mind.

"It's beautiful," she says after a moment, her voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "Everything is so green—so filled with life. Our tribe lived in central Gaul, where the terrain is all rolling hills and valleys—with lots of little rivers running through it. Our city was at the top of a hill—much higher up from the sea than Rome is—so it wasn't quite as hot during these summer months." She smiles wistfully as she remembers. "There was a forest just outside the city walls, and when we weren't training, Seanlaoch and I would spend all our free time there."

"Seanlaoch?"

"He was my cousin," Quinn explains, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice completely. "My best friend. We did everything together—hunting, fishing, climbing trees, and playing war games."

"What happened to him?" Rachel asks, and out of the corner of her eye, Quinn can see her brown eyes shining with concern.

"He was crucified by Emperor Sejanus," she replies, every part of her taut with tension. She doesn't want to lose it in front of Rachel, but the memories are still painful. "Along with the rest of my family."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, tightening her hold around Quinn. "We don't have to talk about it if it upsets you."

"It's okay," Quinn replies, realizing the truth of her words as she turns her head to look at Rachel. "I don't usually talk about what happened in Arverni, and I try not to think about it, but… I want to tell you."

Rachel gazes sympathetically at Quinn before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "Whatever you want to tell me, I'm all ears."

"We knew Sejanus and his troops were coming," Quinn says quietly after a moment, returning her gaze toward the ceiling. "They had been making their way through Gaul for the better part of a year. Most of the other Gallic tribes surrendered, but my father refused. He would often speak of the time when we would rule Rome, so the idea of being subservient to Sejanus's rule was unthinkable.

"We fought hard," she continues, recalling the initial conflict. "At one point it even looked like we would be victorious, but then something horrible happened. Two of the most powerful Gallic tribes—the Aedui and the Bituriges—allied with Sejanus. The tide turned, and we had to retreat.

"They laid siege to our city. We were cut off completely, and our supplies rapidly dwindled. Sejanus was toying with us at that point, waiting us out. So we made one last offensive attack." Quinn stops talking as the memories rush over her.

"What happened?" Rachel prods, her voice laced with worry.

Quinn swallows and lets out a long breath. "Sejanus knew exactly what was coming and had laid traps. It was a slaughter." She closes her eyes as her mind is assaulted with images of her tribesmen meeting their end. The acrid smell of fire and death is something she will never forget.

"I managed to get out of the fray. I was outnumbered, but I refused to go down without a fight. Seanlaoch almost made it out too, but he…" she stops then, remembering the anguished scream that erupted from Seanlaoch's throat when a flaming arrow pierced his back and the panic she felt at the sound. "I heard him before I saw him, but that moment's hesitation cost me, and…" she stops again, unable to continue recounting the details. "I miss him. I miss my family. I miss my home." A feather-light kiss to her collarbone brings her back to the present. "I never imagined that this would be my life."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says quietly, running a soothing hand up Quinn's arm and hugging her close.

Quinn finds that it comforts her and tightens her hold around Rachel as she turns her head to look at Rachel once more, taking in her conflicted expression.

"Before meeting you, I never really thought about what it was like from the other side of things," Rachel confesses. "What you do in the arena is an incredible sight to behold, but knowing _how_ you came to be a gladiator—knowing what you went through and that you lost everything—it breaks my heart."

Quinn mashes her lips together and closes her eyes as she buries her nose in brown tresses and simply breathes Rachel in. She knows if she speaks now, she'll probably cry, and she's not willing to do that in front of Rachel if she can help it.

So instead she wraps her arms around Rachel, draws her body up, and presses her lips against the soft ones of her lover. Rachel kisses her back, and Quinn can feel the emotion in it—the comfort that Rachel offers.

As their kiss breaks, Quinn rests her forehead against Rachel's. "Thank you," she finally says, cracking her eyes open, and they shine with unshed tears.

"For what?" Rachel asks softly, her eyes searching Quinn's.

"For caring," she says, tightening her arms around Rachel. "And for giving me something to care about now."

* * *

Deft fingers play with the hem of Quinn's tunic, slowly drawing it up her legs. Rachel is already half undressed, and Quinn's hand lightly runs up and down her bare back as she watches her.

Rachel examines the scar on Quinn's left thigh—the result of a centurion's sword slicing into her skin during her final stand in Arverni. Every single mark on Quinn's body has been caressed by those gentle hands. Rachel has never asked about the brand on her shoulder or the whip scars on her back, but Quinn has come to learn that certain scars—the ones that came from fighting—hold a kind of fascination for Rachel.

For her part, Quinn loves the contrast between them. Rachel's soft, smooth, tan skin against her own, which is rougher, scarred, lighter.

"What happened?" Rachel asks, noticing the large bruise on Quinn's right thigh, her fingertips barely grazing it.

"Lucky shot by Saoirse during our sparring session yesterday," Quinn explains. "Things have been getting a little testy the last few days. She's anxious to get into the arena and _really_ fight someone."

Rachel smiles. "Well, I can't wait to see _you_ in action again. It's been over a month now."

"Soon," Quinn replies, returning Rachel's smile.

"I know, less than two weeks," Rachel says a little excitedly, propping her chin on Quinn's chest and looking up at her through long lashes.

"You should come see a sparring session sometime," Quinn suggests, lightly running her fingers through brunette locks. "I'm sure Silvanus would let you watch. Duvianus has come by a few times."

"Oh?" Rachel asks, and Quinn doesn't miss how she tenses up a bit.

"Yeah," she says, stilling her hand. "He comes to see Sukie."

Rachel says nothing in response, instead choosing to close her eyes, but Quinn catches a flash of worry in them before they shut.

Quinn watches her for a moment longer, her brow furrowing in concern. "What are you thinking about?"

Rachel lets out a sigh and opens her eyes once more. "Nothing you'd want to know."

"Of course I want to know," Quinn insists. "I want to know everything about you."

That earns her a smile as Rachel shifts upward and presses a kiss to Quinn's lips. "I'd rather enjoy what little time we have together," she says, once again resuming the removal of Quinn's tunic.

Quinn gets the distinct feeling that Rachel is trying to distract herself, but she can't exactly blame her. After all, she's done it herself plenty of times before. But there's a nagging thought that takes root in her mind, even as she gives herself over to the pleasure of Rachel's touch.

* * *

"There's something I've been wondering," Quinn says as she helps Rachel redress herself—tying her stophium in place and fastening her necklace.

Rachel turns around, giving Quinn her full attention. "What's that?"

"How come we never go to your home?" she asks. "I know that Silvanus would allow it. Governor Carius of Genua took Saoirse as a lover, and she would always go to his villa. And Sukie always goes to Duvianus's home."

"Our situation is different," Rachel explains, her eyes flickering with guilt and confliction. It makes Quinn a little uneasy.

"How so?" she asks.

"Because my fathers can't know what I'm doing with you," Rachel says emphatically, looking a little distressed.

Quinn can't help but feel a slight sting to her pride, but her confusion overrides it. "Why not?"

Rachel frowns as she averts her eyes, sitting back down on the chaise. "Because they wouldn't approve. If I was a man, it wouldn't matter, but women don't have the same freedom of choice that men do, and my fathers make a lot of decisions for me," she explains, and Quinn doesn't miss the bitterness in her voice. "I think they have an idea of what happened between us at the party, but as far as they're concerned, it was a one-time encounter. They _can't_ know that I've taken you as a lover. So I need to keep things with you as discreet as possible."

"I see," Quinn replies with a small frown of her own as she takes a seat beside Rachel, trying to wrap her head around the idea of being beholden to a man due to one's gender. Gaulish women, especially those of noble blood, have a choice whether to become warriors or homemakers. Although, now that Quinn thinks about it, her father always had expectations of her to live up to his name. She doubts he would have even allowed her to be anything other than a warrior. Still, the fact that Rachel doesn't have a choice is incredibly bothersome.

"Don't be upset," Rachel says, leaning over to press a placating kiss to Quinn's cheek.

"I'm not," she says, shaking her head lightly. She's a slave—how she feels shouldn't matter to Rachel—and yet, time and time again, Rachel considers her feelings. "Well, I guess I am a little upset. I don't like seeing you unhappy." She reaches over and interlaces their fingers.

Rachel smiles at that as she looks down at their clasped hands. "I'm more happy than not when I'm with you," she says, looking back up at Quinn.

Quinn can't help but return it, feeling warmth spread in her chest at Rachel's words. "So where is it that your fathers think you are when you're here with me?" she asks after a moment, letting her curiosity get the better of her.

To her relief, Rachel's mood doesn't waver at the mention of her fathers. "With friends."

"And if you were actually with said friends, what would you be doing?"

"Shopping in the forum, taking in a play, or, if we were at someone's home, we'd either play _latrunculi_ or play some music," she replies, brushing her thumb against the back of Quinn's hand.

Quinn wishes she could do all those things with Rachel as well, but she says nothing because there's no point. "You know how you like to watch me fight?" she asks instead, and Rachel nods. "That's how I feel about you and singing. I've never heard anything so beautiful as your voice."

"Thank you, Quinn," Rachel says, and she looks almost humbled by her praise, and Quinn finds it incredibly endearing.

She glances over at the candle on the wall, noting how much time they have left. _Just enough before Bestia comes for me._ She looks back at Rachel in earnest. "Will you sing something for me?"

Rachel looks at her in surprise. "Now?"

Quinn nods.

"Alright," Rachel agrees, smiling a little before taking a deep breath.

"Suns may set, and suns may rise again, but when our brief light has set, night is one long everlasting sleep," Rachel sings softly, an impish smile playing at her lips. "Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred…"

Quinn closes her eyes as Rachel's voice washes over her, getting lost in her all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Rachel sings in this chapter is from a poem by Catullus.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to poetzproblem for beta reading this chapter. :)
> 
> Characters making their first appearance/getting their first mention in this chapter are: Noah = Noah Puckerman | Cato = Cooter Menkins

The buzz on the streets of Rome is palpable—the forum filled to the brim with Roman citizens looking to catch a glimpse of the Games' participants. Today marks the conclusion of Andronicus's Games, and from what Quinn has gathered, he plans on going out with a bang.

The chains holding the shackles around Quinn's wrists jangle as their small procession, led by Silvanus on her chariot, makes its way through the forum. Her body is already thrumming with excess energy in anticipation for her fight, and the sheer number of people jostling for a view of the procession and a bold few attempting to push past the guards lining the streets is doing nothing to calm her.

"Relax, Quinn," Mhonum says, obviously noticing her distress. "We're almost there," she adds, cocking her head toward the Colosseum up ahead.

Quinn tries to take a steadying breath, but it doesn't help. "It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't shackled," she replies, glaring at a man in the crowd who looks at her in a way that she _really_ doesn't like. "I don't like having to rely on Roman soldiers to protect me from the mob."

As if tempting the gods with her words, that same man suddenly bursts onto the street and makes a grab for Britt. Quinn and Saoirse stop dead in their tracks and move to stop him, but before either of them can even retaliate, Britt slams her elbow into his temple, knocking him to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Saoirse kicks him in the ribs for good measure before two guards grab him by the arms and haul him away. She makes a move to go after him, but Bestia quickly intervenes, grabbing her by the waist and holding her back while she hurls curses at the now unconscious man.

"See what I mean?" Quinn asks Mhonum, eyes darting around as she turns in a circle, making sure no one else is going to try anything stupid.

"Yeah, I see now," Mhonum agrees, also taking more of a defensive posture.

Britt seems completely unfazed, but Saoirse is seething. Quinn doesn't blame her. She knows all of her friends can handle themselves, but she still feels protective over them, especially in this kind of environment.

Fortunately, they arrive to the Colosseum without further incident, to Quinn's mild relief. But that relief is short-lived when, instead of being taken into the arena, they are brought to a guarded area just outside it. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the sight of a dozen large cages—some filled with men and others with beasts.

Quinn scowls as she and her fellow gladiatrices are led into one of the cages and locked inside it. Its only saving grace is that it's away from the mob, but the tight quarters make her feel trapped, setting her even more on edge.

As Bestia works to remove their shackles, Silvanus informs them that they'll be out here for two candlemarks—on display for the Roman upper class who want an up close look at the day's entertainment—before being brought into the underbelly of the Colosseum to prepare for their matches.

Quinn sneers and paces near the back of the cage. It's bad enough having to wait in the dark recesses of the arenas, but there is still an excessive amount of space there. The bars drive home the reality that she is confined to this space. It's like the barracks but worse, because now there's an added dose of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The curious eyes of the Romans on her don't do much to help either—their gaze makes her feel not too dissimilar to the beasts on display.

A warm hand wrapping around her upper arm stops her in her tracks. Tensing, Quinn cuts her gaze to meet calm, blue eyes. "What do you want, Britt?" she asks, her voice betraying her anxiety.

"Why don't you sit with me, Quinn?" Britt offers, releasing her hold on Quinn's arm and gracefully settling down onto the ground in a cross-legged position.

Quinn considers for a moment before finally relenting and plopping down alongside Britt, letting out a soft huff as she mirrors her position.

"I know you don't like closed off spaces like this," Britt says after a moment. "But I think I know something you can do to make it better."

"What?" she asks, wanting to settle the tension in her body.

"Just close your eyes and imagine that you're in a big field or on top of a mountain or something. Like they have back in your home. Then you'll forget all about the cage we're sitting in."

"You make it sound so easy," Quinn says with a shake of her head.

"Just try it."

"Fine."

"And make sure to breathe, nice and easy."

"Right," Quinn mutters, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her breath first. It's actually a technique her father taught her to help steady and focus her mind, but she finds it difficult to do in certain circumstances—like now.

Still, she manages to eventually steady her breathing and feels herself relax ever so slightly. Quinn then tries to do what Britt says and visualize herself someplace back home. It's hard to imagine Arverni without the more painful memories attached, so Quinn instead remembers the large clearing in the densely wooded forest beyond her city's walls. It's here that she and Seanlaoch would laze around after a morning run, looking up at the clouds and describing to each other what they saw there.

After several long moments—Quinn's not sure exactly how much time passes—Britt nudges Quinn lightly with her elbow, drawing her from her imaginings. "Feel any better?"

"A little," Quinn admits.

"Good, because your lady friend is here," she says, causing Quinn to instantly perk up as she opens her eyes.

She can't stop her lips from curving up into a smile as she spots Rachel standing on the other side of the bars, gazing at her with warm eyes. Quinn is on her feet instantly, most of the tension in her body melting away as she steps toward her, taking in the sight of her lover in a light green stola and an adoring smile on her face.

"Hi," Quinn says, wrapping her hands around the bars in order to suppress the urge to reach through them and pull Rachel in for a kiss.

"Hi," Rachel replies, looking up at her through long lashes. Her excitement is evident in the way those brown eyes shine, and Quinn raises a playful eyebrow in response. "I wanted to see you before your match today," Rachel says then, twirling the stem of the flower she's holding in her hand. "And give you a small token to wish you luck," she continues, reaching through the bars.

Quinn watches her intently as Rachel pins the flower to the front of her tunic. She sucks in a light breath as Rachel's fingers linger longer than necessary, brushing against the rough material of her tunic.

"It's a gladiolus," Rachel explains as she draws her hands away and looks back up at Quinn. "It seemed appropriate for today. I handpicked it from my garden just for you."

"The garden I never actually got to see?" Quinn asks with a teasing smirk, trying to ignore the hurt that's suddenly creeping in over the fact that she will probably never get to see the garden because she's not allowed to be a part of Rachel's life beyond Silvanus's ludus.

"The same," Rachel replies, her eyes darkening ever so slightly as she no doubt remembers their first night together. Quinn can't help but do the same.

"I really wish I could kiss you right now," she breathes, resting her forehead against the bars.

"Me too," Rachel replies just as quietly before lightly pressing her lips together and glancing briefly at Quinn's mouth. Her eyes lock back on to Quinn's as she offers her another smile. "I'll make it up to you."

"Rachel?" a young man's voice calls out, interrupting the moment and causing Rachel to tense slightly as her lips curve down into a slight frown. Furrowing her brow, Quinn shifts her gaze to the crowd to see Curtius looking around as he calls out for Rachel again.

"I have to go," Rachel tells her in a soft but urgent voice, instantly drawing Quinn's attention back to her. "I'll come see you after you win." She reaches up and grabs on to the back of Quinn's left hand, squeezing it lightly and smiling again. "I'll be cheering for you."

Before Quinn can even say goodbye, Rachel is slipping back into the small crowd, leaving Quinn's skin tingling from her touch. She watches as her lover comes alongside Curtius and Hostia. They both look at Rachel curiously, but she smiles easily at them before the trio begins to wander off together.

Quinn's fingers lightly brush against the petals of the gladiolus pinned to her tunic, and she lets out a sigh as she watches Rachel finally disappear from her view, wishing more than anything that she could be out there, by her side.

* * *

Quinn twirls her sword, thrusting and parrying with an imaginary opponent, to keep her arm and wrist limber as she stands in a tunnel behind a still-closed gate, waiting to step foot onto the Colosseum's floor. Above her, she can hear the excitement of the crowd—still worked up from the fight between Mhonum and her opponent.

It isn't long before a horn sounds through the Colosseum, silencing the din of the mob and causing Quinn to tighten her grip on her sword as the gate slowly begins to open.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the orator's voice calls out, loud enough to reach Quinn's ears. "Andronicus now brings you one of the most anticipated matches of the day. Captured by our very own emperor in the Battle of Arverni, she is truly a sight to behold in the arena. Representing the ludus of Silvanus, the warrior princess of Gaul—Quinn!"

The mob erupts in cheers, and despite the mention of Emperor Sejanus's conquest, Quinn feels the familiar thrill from their adulation as she steps into the arena. A confident smirk plays at her lips as she casts her gaze up into the crowd.

Instinctively, Quinn seeks out Rachel among the thousands of faces, suddenly wishing she had asked where she would be sitting. She squints against the hot afternoon sun as a sense of mild disappointment comes over her. She can't find Rachel.

"And facing her, a six-time champion in the great Colosseum and representing the ludus of Cato, the virile Noah of Judea!" the orator calls out, forcing Quinn to look toward the opposite gate and focus on the task at hand. _I'll see Rachel later_ , she reminds herself.

Quinn eyes her opponent as he steps onto the sands—a young man with a muscular build wearing nothing but a red loin cloth, a few strips of leather on his arms and legs, and a light, visored helmet. He holds a curved sword in each hand. Noah flexes his muscles and grins cockily at a throng of female admirers in the crowd, earning enthusiastic screams and causing Quinn to roll her eyes.

Noah then turns his attention to Quinn, raising an eyebrow as he looks her over. "So you're the Gallic princess I've been hearing so much about," he says with a smirk, appraising her with barely-disguised lust before letting out a low whistle. "You are way too fine to kill, and it would be a crime for you not to get a piece of this before you die," he says, his smile growing positively wolfish as he gestures toward his own body. "What do you say we take a roll in the hay after I beat you?"

Quinn's lip curls in disgust. "I'd rather meet the end of your swords than sleep with a pig like you," she retorts, shaking her head dismissively. "Not like either of those things will ever happen."

Noah scowls in response, clearly not expecting that response. "Your loss," he replies, dropping into his fighting stance, pointing one of his swords at her and the other overhead. "It's a shame, really. I'm the best lay you could have had."

"Please," she scoffs, dropping into a stance of her own. "Don't flatter yourself."

Wasting no time, Noah bellows loudly as he charges toward her. Quinn roots herself into her stance as she throws her shield up to block the strikes from his swords. She quickly follows with a jab of her own, which Noah easily parries before landing another blow to her shield.

Their exchange is relentless and fast-paced—the clash of their swords and her shield echoes throughout the arena as they continue to trade blows. Quinn can practically feel the mob lean forward in their seats as they watch the fight with baited breath. She doesn't dare take her eyes off of Noah though, knowing it would be foolish to do so.

Normally, she toys with her opponents a bit, knowing that she has to put on a show and draw the fight out, but this time, it's all real. Noah effortlessly handles everything Quinn throws at him, and she soon realizes how he's been able to win so many matches—his technique is excellent, and he's by far the best she's faced in the arena. But her confidence in her own ability never wavers, and right now, she's relishing the challenge.

But with every strike of his sword that fails to connect with her body, Noah grows visibly frustrated. And it's then that Quinn realizes that his lack of patience might just be the advantage she needs to finally turn the tide in this fight.

Quinn smiles brazenly as she quickly parries a rapid series of strikes from his swords. "What's the matter, pig? Never actually fought someone better than you before?"

"I'm just going easy on you, princess," Noah shoots back. "Don't want to mess up that pretty face of yours."

"Keep telling yourself that," she retorts before intensifying her effort, using a series of quick but powerful strikes with her sword.

It's all Noah can do to try and block her attacks as he hastily retreats. But he's just that much slower than Quinn, and all it takes is one extra-quick flick of her wrist, and she catches the inside of his right wrist with her gladius, slicing it into his skin and causing Noah to grimace as he drops his sword. Before he even has a chance to recover his lost weapon, Quinn is on the offensive again.

Despite being down a sword, he manages to turn away the next several attacks, and Quinn realizes that she needs to change tactics.

So she eases up a little, letting him push her back and, hopefully, lulling him into a false sense of security.

Their swords clash once more, and Quinn eases up even more, letting Noah get close enough for him to kiss her. Noah smirks as he stares down at her. "Not so great are you now, princess? Just do yourself a favor and give up now."

Quinn flashes her teeth at him in a feral smile and slams her shield into the side of his head just as she kicks him in the gut and pushes her gladius forward.

The momentum causes his other sword to go flying, and Noah crashes hard onto the ground, sputtering as he tries to catch his breath. Grimacing, he pushes himself onto his hands and knees—his back facing Quinn as his chest heaves.

"What was that you were saying?" Quinn smiles triumphantly as she stands over him, sword pointed at his back. "Give up?"

"No way," he bites out, glaring at her over his shoulder before shooting his arm towards Quinn's face.

The next thing Quinn knows is searing pain in her eyes, and she cries out as she staggers backward.

 _Sand_ , she realizes, gritting her teeth in equal parts anger and agony as the mob howls in delight.

Quinn tries to blink, but it only seems to make things worse as tears form in her eyes. She can't see anything, and the raucous sound of the crowd doesn't help. Before she can even think, the sharp sting of a blade cuts into her upper left arm, causing Quinn to hiss and jump back, hopefully, out of harm's way, as she raises her shield in an effort to protect herself.

"Haven't you heard? I like it dirty," Noah taunts her then, and Quinn is thankful for his brashness—his voice tips off his position. She lifts her sword up, blocking the oncoming strike of one of his now-recovered blades, before wielding her shield toward his body—striking him hard in the side with its edge.

"Oof," he grunts painfully, stumbling backward.

Quinn takes the brief respite to rub her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to get the sand out. It only seems to make things worse, and she hisses slightly at the pain as she blinks rapidly.

Angrily, she retracts her hand, ready to kill Noah the first chance she gets. She decides that he doesn't deserve a reprieve even if he asks for one. If he wants to fight dirty, then that's what he'll get.

It's difficult with the crowd noise and the discomfort in her eyes, but Quinn can more or less manage to make out where Noah is if she focuses and pushes through the pain.

His feet shift against the sand as he unleashes a furious assault with his sword. Quinn can tell by the force of the blows cracking against her shield that he's using both arms to wield one blade.

Quinn blinks again as she retreats under the force of his attack, and she vaguely makes out the shape of his torso, feeling a spark of hope. She drops deeply into her stance to keep herself immovable as Noah swings his sword down in a sweeping arc.

Quinn lifts her shield up, sends a prayer up to Brigindo, and thrusts her blade forward. There's a slight resistance and then it's piercing through flesh. The anguished cry that escapes Noah's mouth fills her with satisfaction, and she pushes harder, twisting the blade deep into his abdomen.

Quinn wrenches her sword from his gut, and Noah's body falls to floor of the Colosseum—the crowd delighting in his blood spilling onto the sand.

She staggers back slightly, panting from the exertion and the pain, blinking again, trying to make sure that Noah is actually dead. But judging from the reaction of their audience, she's fairly certain he is.

The mob soon begins to chant Quinn's name—a thunderous echo that reverberates through every part of her body—and she holds her arms up in victory, reveling in their adulation. Knowing that Rachel's is mixed in there somewhere makes it even more intense, and Quinn wishes she could see her face right now—the pride and adoration that she knows must be directed at her right now.

It makes thoughts of her father's sure disapproval of what she's become nothing but a fading memory.

* * *

Quinn sits restlessly in one of the smaller rooms of Silvanus's villa, waiting for Bestia to come back to properly dress the wound on her upper left arm. Her body is still thrumming with excess energy from her fight—there's nothing like the high that comes from staring death in the face and coming out on the other side. She's grateful that, for once, Silvanus didn't throw her back in her cell immediately after they returned to the ludus.

She twirls the stem of the gladiolus Rachel gave her, thinking of her lover and wondering how much longer she'll have to wait to see her. Rachel promised she'd come to her after the fight, but it's growing late, and Quinn is anxious to see her. She lifts the petals to her nose and inhales deeply, closing her eyes as she imagines painted, pink lips and soft skin beneath her fingertips.

Letting out a sigh, Quinn places the flower down on the small table she's sitting at. She glances at the candle on the wall before rubbing at her eyes. Despite having washed them out with water several times, they still sting a bit. She prays they don't get infected.

"It'll feel better tomorrow," Bestia says as she enters the room and sits beside Quinn, placing a few items on the table—acetum, a needle, thread, and some bandages.

Quinn nods and tries to relax as Bestia gets to work.

"Don't worry, I'll make this quick," Bestia tells her, removing the now blood-soaked rag that had been tied around the gash on her arm. True to her word, she makes fast work of cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the wound. "Silvanus told me you're to stay up here tonight," she says as she finishes things up.

"Why?" Quinn asks even though she already knows the reason—the very thought of it sending a rush of excitement through her.

Bestia's lips quirk up as her blue eyes twinkle. "Your favorite admirer has paid you a visit." She turns her head toward the doorway and calls out, "You can come in now, Rachel."

Hazel eyes instantly lock on Rachel as she steps into the room, and she hungrily drinks in the sight of her lover rushing over to her.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asks, her brown eyes shining with concern as she anxiously looks her over—running her hands over Quinn's bare arms, taking care to avoid touching the freshly bandaged area. Quinn shivers slightly at the touch as her desire for Rachel suddenly flares up in a way she's never felt before. Almost like it's beyond her control.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, her own voice sounding almost foreign to her.

"I'll leave you two alone," Bestia says knowingly, but Quinn barely hears it over the lust and adrenaline humming through her veins as she gazes at Rachel, who is still looking at her with concerned eyes.

Soft fingertips brush against her heated skin once more, and Quinn feels something in her snap. She has a sudden and overwhelming urge to claim Rachel—to make Rachel feel her _everywhere_ —and it's a craving that she must sate.

She doesn't even try to fight it, and within seconds, Quinn is on her feet, wrapping her hands around Rachel's bare upper arms and pushing her backwards, eliciting a soft gasp as Rachel's back hits the wall.

"Quinn?" Rachel asks, her voice laced with confusion as she stares up at her, swallowing thickly. But there's an unmistakable desire that darkens Rachel's eyes, and it sends a pulse of pleasure through Quinn.

"You're mine," is all she says before pressing her lips to Rachel's in a bruising kiss, and soon it's all teeth and tongue. Rachel moans into her mouth, and Quinn presses herself further against her lover's smaller frame, loving the power she's exerting over her.

She reaches down, encircling Rachel's wrists with her palms and lifting them up before holding both in place against the wall with her left hand. Her right hand wanders along the curves of Rachel's body, groping and squeezing at the soft flesh beneath her stola.

She rips her mouth away from Rachel's and quickly latches on to her pulse point, sucking hard and making sure to leave her mark. Quinn grips tightly on to Rachel's hip as she bites down on another patch of soft skin. Rachel sucks in a harsh breath, causing Quinn to smirk against her neck before sucking, enjoying the sound of Rachel panting in her ear.

Quinn slides her hand down to Rachel's thigh and then slips it beneath the silky material of her robe. She removes her mouth from the salty skin of Rachel's throat and lifts her head to meet Rachel's gaze as her hand trails up the inside of Rachel's thigh. She stares intently at Rachel as she makes quick work of pushing aside her loincloth.

Quinn dips her fingers between Rachel's legs and smirks when she feels the wetness there. "You want this, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Rachel rasps out, bucking into Quinn's hand as she gazes at her through half-lidded eyes. "I always want you, Quinn."

Rachel's words cause a wave of desire and pride to swell up in her. Without any preamble, Quinn thrusts three fingers inside Rachel, causing her lover to cry out as her head drops back against the wall. She lets out a soft moan at the feeling of Rachel's tight heat encasing her fingers as she starts moving at a relentless pace.

"Oh, gods," Rachel cries out, and Quinn finally releases her captive hold on Rachel's wrists as she shifts her position, straddling Rachel's thigh and threading her fingers through soft, brown locks—needing to be even closer to Rachel.

Small hands fly to her upper back, urging Quinn on as she continues to pump three fingers into Rachel, using her right thigh to push harder and deeper than she's ever been before. Quinn feels wild and alive as she pants harshly, relishing the sight of Rachel's face screwed up in pleasure that borders on pain—her mouth hung open as breathy, little whimpers escape her lips; her brow furrowed; eyes slammed shut. _That won't do_ , Quinn thinks.

"Look at me, Rachel," Quinn orders, her voice rough and commanding as she tugs on Rachel's hair, and she feels a rush of satisfaction as brown eyes flutter open and lock on to hers. "I want you to see who's making you feel like this."

Rachel gasps and breathes out Quinn's name, tightening her hold on Quinn's back as Quinn continues to pound into her.

"Tell me," Quinn says, getting off on how in control she is over Rachel. "Tell me what this does to you."

Rachel gasps. "I… oh, gods… it feels _so_ good, Quinn. It's like you're everywhere, and I-" the words die somewhere inside Quinn's mouth as she presses their lips together in another searing kiss. Fingers thread themselves into blonde tresses as Rachel moans her pleasure softly, and all Quinn wants to do is make Rachel feel her so intensely—mind, body, and heart—that she'll never be the same again.

She breaks their kiss and presses her forehead against Rachel's, staring into endless brown depths as she breathes heavily against Rachel's mouth and continues to pump her fingers. Rachel begins to tremble slightly, and Quinn feels the wet heat around her fingers tighten. She's close, and Quinn doesn't dare slow down her pace.

And then Rachel is coming with Quinn's name on her lips, her body shuddering from the pleasure coursing through her, and it makes Quinn feel like she's conquered the world. She presses her lips against Rachel's jaw, nipping slightly at salty skin as Rachel trembles against Quinn with aftershocks.

Reluctantly, Quinn removes her fingers from their warm haven and wraps her arm around Rachel's waist, kissing Rachel deeply for long moments before finally breaking apart.

"That was incredible," Rachel says breathlessly, running her hands down Quinn's back and slipping them beneath the hem of her tattered, blue tunic.

Quinn grabs on to Rachel's wrists and shakes her head, earning a look of confusion from Rachel. "No," she says firmly, licking her lips and drinking in the sight of Rachel looking thoroughly disheveled, stoking her flames of desire. Her need for Rachel still hasn't been sated. "I'm not done with you yet."

Brown eyes grow impossibly darker as Quinn lifts Rachel up—tan legs wrapping themselves around her waist—as she carries her over to the chaise on the other side of the room, laying her down and climbing atop her.

A soft palm rests against her cheek as Quinn gazes down intently at Rachel before pressing another bruising kiss to painted lips.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to poetzproblem for beta reading this chapter and for the great suggestion. :)
> 
> Character making his first appearance in this chapter: Aurelian = Artie Abrams

Rachel hums a little tune as she cuts through the forum on her way back home, feeling tired but incredibly sated. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and the merchants are opening their stands, getting ready to sell their wares.

With every step she takes, she can feel a dull but delicious ache between her thighs. Rachel's lips curve up into a smile, and she shivers a little at the thoughts of what caused it—how Quinn had taken her again and again late into the night.

She'd heard of it before from Hostia—the battle lust that can overtake a gladiator post-fight—but nothing could have prepared her to be on the receiving end of it like that. Normally, Quinn is—well, she's always enthusiastic, but she's never been so rough and dominating. But Rachel honestly loved every moment of it, especially after witnessing such an emotional victory for her lover in the arena, and the memory of Quinn pinning her down and taking what she wanted—the hunger in those gorgeous, hazel eyes as they bore into her—causes a delicious fluttering in her belly.

She wishes she didn't have to leave Quinn, but she's already taken a risk by even going to Silvanus's last night, and she prays that no one has noticed her absence at home.

Quietly, Rachel sneaks in through the side door of her home, hoping to avoid running into her fathers. Or anyone else for that matter. All she wants right now is a nice, hot bath.

"Oh, thank the gods," Elianne exclaims, catching sight of Rachel and making her jump in surprise. She feels a touch of nervousness as her slave rushes toward her. "We've been looking everywhere for you." Elianne pauses then and looks Rachel over, an expression of worry marring her features. "Where have you been, my lady?"

"I went for a walk," Rachel replies, smoothing down her stola self-consciously and adjusting her hair to cover the marks Quinn left on her neck as she brushes past Elianne and heads toward the bathroom.

"Your fathers are worried," Elianne says as she follows after her, causing Rachel's nervousness to spike at their mention. "You should go see them first."

Rachel is about to argue when she hears her father's relieved voice sound behind her. "There you are, Rachel."

Letting out a sigh and bracing herself as best she can, Rachel turns to face him and her papa. "Here I am," she says, smiling and finding that she doesn't really have to fake it—not after her night with Quinn.

"Where were you last night?" her papa asks, eyeing her critically.

"Right here at home," Rachel replies evenly.

He looks at her disbelievingly. "You're still wearing yesterday's clothes."

"I was tired after yesterday's excitement at the Games, and I fell asleep in them."

"Elianne says you weren't in your room this morning," her father says.

Rachel nods. "That's true. I woke up early and decided to go for a walk out to the Velia to see the sun rise."

Her father shakes his head while her papa looks like he's about to blow his top. Before her papa can say anything, her father holds up his hand to stop him. They share a brief look before her father addresses her once more. "You know you shouldn't be out at that hour without an escort of some kind. It's too dangerous."

"Yes, Father," Rachel replies, doing her best to look thoroughly chastised. "I won't do it again."

"Good," he says, seemingly placated by her response, much to Rachel's relief. "Now that that's settled, I'm needed at the _curia_ , but when I get back this evening, I'd like to have dinner with you and your papa. With the emperor's return home next week, I will be busy with the Senate making preparations for his triumph, and I won't have as much time to spend at home."

"Dinner this evening sounds lovely," Rachel says with a soft smile. "Have a good day, Father."

He says farewell and makes his way out, leaving Rachel alone with her papa. "You really did have us worried, Rachel," he says, obviously not as satisfied with her explanation as her father. "I fear that your impulsiveness might get you into serious trouble someday."

"I didn't mean to make you worry," she replies, trying not to get irritated by his overprotectiveness, but failing as her words take on an additional bite. "I just like to enjoy what little independence I do have."

Her papa frowns. "Rachel…"

Rachel looks away, her good mood quickly diminishing.

He sighs. "You know that I only want what's best for you."

"I don't want to talk about this right now," she replies, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She doesn't want to argue with her papa. She just wants to hold on to the good memories from last night. "I'm feeling tired again, and I could use a bath."

"Alright," he says somewhat agreeably. "I have some business to attend to anyway, so I'll leave you to it. I'll see you this evening for dinner with your father."

Rachel nods, offering her papa a tight smile before turning to head toward the bathroom. She's relieved to have gotten out of that conversation with her fathers being none the wiser about her true whereabouts, even though the conversation did take a slightly unpleasant turn near the end. She just wishes things were different—that she could have the life she really wants—but she's realized that it's a fruitless argument.

Elianne dutifully follows after Rachel and as soon as they arrive to their destination, her slave begins to prepare Rachel's bath for her to soak in. One of the benefits of being born to a wealthier family is actually having a private bathroom with hot water. Her fathers tend to use the public bathhouses, so really, Rachel is the one who mainly uses this room.

Unbidden, Rachel wonders what it would be like to share a bath with Quinn. Her lips curve up into an impish smile at the thought of her lover's supple body dripping with droplets of warm water. Maybe she can figure out a way to sneak Quinn into her home sometime when her fathers are out.

"My lady?" Elianne asks, breaking Rachel out of her revelry. Her slave's voice is laced with confusion as she gazes at Rachel expectantly—strigil in hand. "Aren't you going to get undressed?

Rachel flushes slightly as she realizes what a terrible idea that would be. She can't let Elianne see her naked—not after what Quinn did to her last night. No, that would be far too suspicious, and Rachel knows she can't lie her way around the countless marks left behind by her lover's talented mouth.

She clears her throat, hoping her blush has faded. "No, that's alright. I can take care of it myself. I'd rather be alone right now."

"Okay, my lady," her slave agrees demurely, placing the strigil alongside Rachel's preferred ointment and a clean set of towels on the small bench next to the steaming bath. "If you need anything, I'll be next door in the kitchen," she adds before leaving and pulling the curtain closed behind her.

Rachel lets out a sigh of relief as she runs a palm across her face. _That was too close_ , she thinks as she begins to remove her clothes, taking in the sight of the purplish bruises on her hip. _But it was so worth it._

* * *

There's a light bounce in Rachel's step as she exits her bedroom. It's something that seems to be present every time that she goes to see Quinn, but today is a little different. Rachel is actually going to watch Quinn train—something she has wanted to do for awhile now, but hesitated doing for fear of being seen by one of her father's colleagues. But with everyone in the Senate so busy preparing for Emperor Sejanus's return, she knows there is no risk of that happening today.

Rachel is anxious to see Quinn again, and there's nothing like watching her fight—the way her muscles ripple beneath sun-kissed skin as she moves with deadly precision. In a way, she reminds Rachel a little of the lions that stalk the arena floor during the Games.

"And where are you off to today?" her papa calls out from his office as Rachel walks through the atrium and toward the vestibule.

She pauses alongside the lararium and turns to face him. "I'm meeting up with Curtius to do a little shopping in the forum," she replies with a genuine smile.

He nods and offers her a smile in return. "Tell him I say hello."

"I will," she says.

"Actually, I'll tell him myself," her papa says, his smile growing wider as he looks just over her shoulder.

Rachel whirls around to see Curtius walking through the vestibule and into the atrium. Her eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected sight of him.

Not noticing her slight panic, he smiles at her. "Good afternoon," he says, offering her a hug. "I'm glad to see you're here." He lets go of her then and, as is proper, heads into her papa's office.

Rachel trails after him, feeling like things are dangerously close to unraveling in some way.

"Good afternoon, General Leon, it's good to see you again."

"Likewise," her papa says. "It's wonderful that you and Rachel have been spending so much time together. She seems to be in much better spirits these days, especially on the days that you've taken her to the theater."

A look of confusion crosses Curtius's face, but he recovers quickly, offering her papa a smile. "She does seem to be much happier," he agrees, glancing at Rachel momentarily, and she stares at him imploringly.

"Well, I guess I should let you two get going. Rachel mentioned you were going to the forum."

Another look of confusion flashes in his eyes, but his smile never wavers as he turns his attention fully onto Rachel. "Actually, I was hoping we could stay here," Curtius says. "I had a busy morning, and I'd like to relax if you don't mind."

"That's fine," Rachel says a little too tightly, causing Curtius to raise an eyebrow at her. "Why don't we sit in the garden? Are you hungry?"

"A bit, yes," he confirms.

"Elianne can bring us something to eat." At Rachel's words, her redheaded slave scurries off in the direction of the kitchen.

Rachel then wraps her arm around Curtius's and practically drags him out of the office. "It was nice to see you, General Leon," Curtius calls out as he lets Rachel lead him away.

"You too, Curtius," her papa calls after them, a bemused smile on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks under her breath as they make their way toward the peristyle.

"Lovely to see you too, Rachel," Curtius replies with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

Rachel looks at him abashedly. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad to see you," she assures him. "I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry for dropping in. I had an incredibly busy morning meeting with a few people, and I finally had a break, and I really wanted to see you," he explains as they take a seat on the bench at the far side of garden, beneath the shade of the peristyle's roof. "Other than going to the Games the other day, I haven't seen you nearly as much as I would like these days."

"Your work certainly has kept you busy," Rachel agrees. She honestly finds it a little boring, but right now, she wants to keep the topic of conversation on him. "What do you even do in these meetings?"

"I'm sure you don't want me to bore you with the details," he replies with a half smile before turning his attention across the peristyle and on to Elianne, who is carrying a platter toward them. "Everyone's just trying to prepare for Emperor Sejanus's return. He hasn't been home in almost two years, so it will be a bit of an adjustment."

Rachel gets the sense that there's more to it than that. Curtius runs with a younger group of aspiring politicians, and they seem to rub against the grain a little. At least, that's what her father says.

Elianne reaches them then and sets down a simple platter of fruit, cheese, and fish along with a carafe of juice. Rachel isn't particularly hungry, as she ate shortly before she intended to go see Quinn, so she just sips on some juice while Curtius takes a few mouthfuls of food.

"Your family has the best food." He hums a little in pleasure as he eats some more, watching Elianne disappear back inside. Once they're alone, his attention instantly turns toward Rachel. "So where have you really been spending your time?" Curtius asks her curiously. "Clearly it hasn't been with me since we haven't been to the theater once since I returned from Florentia."

Rachel considers for a moment whether or not she should tell him, but she quickly realizes that lying to him isn't really an option now that he knows something is up. He'll keep pushing until he gets the truth. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," Rachel implores.

Curtius's expression grows concerned. "I promise."

"I've been going to Silvanus's," she confesses.

"Silvanus as in the lanista Silvanus?" he asks almost disbelievingly.

Rachel nods, feeling herself grow tense at his tone.

He presses his lips together briefly as his brow furrows in realization. "Please tell me what I'm thinking is incorrect."

"What are you thinking?" she asks somewhat guardedly.

"That you've taken that Gaul as a lover," he says, disapproval written all over his face.

"Why are you so surprised?" she asks defensively, wishing that he wasn't reacting so negatively. "You knew I was attracted to Quinn, and you knew what happened between us at the party."

"Yes, but I thought it was just going to be a one-time thing. You know, get it out of your system before your fathers marry you off."

He isn't wrong. The last he knew, that was all Rachel had wanted from Quinn. "So did I," Rachel explains, trying to get him to understand. "But after I had a taste, I needed more. Her kisses are more intoxicating than wine."

Curtius shakes his head and stares at her intently. "Rachel, you're playing a very dangerous game right now. If word gets out that you've taken a gladiatrix as a lover…" he trails off, but he gazes at her with deadly seriousness.

"I know, it will hurt my fathers' chances at finding me a husband," she says, not bothering to hide her frustration or bitterness.

He frowns sympathetically. "It would probably be best if you stopped this now before you get caught."

His suggestion makes it feel as if a vice has gripped around her heart. "I can't," Rachel says, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice, the idea of not seeing Quinn anymore tearing her up. "I'm not ready to let her go, Curtius. Quinn is… gods, she's amazing. She makes me feel so alive, and don't I deserve to have that? Don't I deserve to have some happiness before my fathers force me into some loveless marriage? Quinn is the best thing to ever happen to me, and I know that I'm one of the only good things in her life. After everything she's had to endure, she deserves some happiness, and I want to give her that."

His gaze turns incredulous. "It sounds like you have actual feelings for her."

She takes pause at his accusatory tone. "I care for her. What's so wrong with that?"

Curtius leans forward, his blue eyes flashing in warning. "She's a _slave_ , Rachel. One of the lowest of the low. It's one thing to bed her, but love her?"

"I… I don't love her," Rachel denies, but the words feel all wrong on her tongue, and she's terrified to consider what that might mean.

"You know what I mean," he argues. "You care more than is appropriate for a slave, especially a gladiator."

She knows what he's saying is true, but it still makes her bristle all the same. "I don't need you telling me this."

Curtius's jaw clenches, and he looks like he's about to say something more, but instead he closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "You're right. I don't need to tell you what you already so clearly know. Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone to the trouble of hiding it," his words still have a bite to them, and he pauses, letting out another sigh. "Just be careful," he says more gently. "And next time, if you're going to use me as an alibi, give me a little warning first. Do you realize how easily I could have shown up at your home unexpected while you were supposedly out with me? That's almost exactly what happened today."

"I know," Rachel replies, feeling a touch of regret. Perhaps her papa was right about her impulsiveness. She should have thought it through a little better. But she almost can't help herself when it comes to Quinn. "Still, I wish you would just be happy for me. If you were to take Flavian as a lover, I would be happy for you."

Curtius flushes a little at her comment and smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in his toga. "You know that I don't have to play by the same rules as you, Rachel," he says after a moment, raising her ire. "Besides, I only want what's best for you."

Rachel huffs out a bitter laugh. "You sound just like my fathers," she says hotly. "You want what's best for me? Then you should want me to be able to make my own decisions about my life."

Curtius looks at her contritely. "I'm sorry," he says after a beat. "You're right. I… I do wish that you could choose for yourself though. And I know that if you were a man, you would have that choice," he tells her earnestly. "But Rachel… this isn't only about that. Even if you were a man, that doesn't change the fact that Quinn is a slave, and you're _emotionally_ involved. That's frowned upon for someone of our stature, and even though it shouldn't matter, the fact that you are an unmarried woman just exacerbates things. So again just… be careful."

"I will," she promises a little testily. "And your apology is accepted." She takes another sip from her cup and turns her attention to the gladiolus plant off to her right, trying to collect herself.

She's still upset with the way their entire conversation went, but despite that, a part of Rachel knows that everything Curtius says is true. She hadn't fully realized it until he said it, but she is emotionally involved with Quinn.

It's like Quinn has taken root in her mind and in her heart and blossomed as a deep affection that seems to grow stronger every moment of every day.

But does she love Quinn?

She doesn't know—she's never been in love before. All Rachel knows is that she thinks about Quinn constantly, and she's always looking forward to when she will see her next. She yearns to feel the warmth of her body pressed against her own, and when they are together, it's like she's found the perfect song. Being with Quinn makes her feel alive and complete, and there's no better feeling than when she brings a smile to Quinn's face.

Rachel presses her lips together and lets out a long breath as she closes her eyes, feeling her heart sing and ache all at once. _I think I'm in love with Quinn._

It's a terrifying realization. Because Curtius is right—it's not proper to feel this way about a slave.

But even knowing that doesn't change anything. Like everything relating to Quinn, Rachel just can't help herself.

* * *

Two days that feel like an eternity later, Rachel is finally able to get away long enough to see Quinn again.

The relief in Quinn's eyes at the sight of Rachel is unmistakable as she approaches her.

"I've missed you," Quinn confesses quietly, searching Rachel's eyes hesitantly, and it makes Rachel's heart melt. How this girl can be so strong and yet so vulnerable with her will never not amaze her.

"I've missed you too," Rachel replies before pressing a lingering kiss to Quinn's lips. Quinn's hands find purchase on Rachel's hips, and Rachel feels more than hears Quinn sigh as their mouths part to briefly deepen the kiss.

"I was afraid I scared you off," she tells her once they break apart. "I don't know what got into me the other night."

Rachel presses a finger to Quinn's lips and shakes her head, her mouth curving up into a sensual smile. "Don't. I loved it. It reminded me of what drew me to you in the first place—the power you exert in the arena… it's an incredible thing to watch. And it was even more incredible to be swept up in it—to be under your control, completely helpless to your touch."

Quinn's eyes darken with Rachel's confession as her hands tighten on her hips and her tongue lightly licks her lips.

Quinn dips her head just as Rachel lifts her chin, and their mouths crash together in a heated kiss. Rachel threads her fingers through blonde locks and presses their bodies together, needing to be even closer to Quinn.

There's an undercurrent of desperation with every touch and taste of Quinn Rachel takes. There's not a doubt in her mind anymore—she loves Quinn—and knowing just how forbidden this is makes it all the more intense for Rachel. It makes her want to hold on to Quinn and never let go, because the specter of her future looms closer and closer—a future with no place for Quinn.

And as she slides her hands beneath Quinn's tunic and caresses the scarred skin of Quinn's back, Rachel tries to push away those thoughts of the candlewax burning down. She wants to cherish these moments with Quinn for as long as she can have them.

* * *

The day of Emperor Sejanus's return to Rome is ushered in with a triumph. Rachel finds herself with Curtius among the masses of people that line the route of the procession. She's grateful that they're situated on the Capitoline Hill, not far from the Temple of Jupiter, where the triumph will be concluded.

The people are excited, and it's hard not to get caught up in it, but there's a sliver of confliction in Rachel's heart over this particular triumph. Her feelings for Quinn make it difficult to fully appreciate the victory being celebrated, but she has always loved her country and honored the men who fulfill its greatness, and today is no different.

"Here they come," Curtius says a little excitedly as the distinctive white tunics of the senators come into view, while the faint sounds of trumpets begin to reach their ears.

Rachel spots her father marching near the front of the procession along with the rest of the Senate, and she feels a surge of admiration. She cheers for him along with the rest of the crowd, smiling and waving at him. He notices her and smiles in her direction.

The trumpeters briefly cut through the din of the citizens' cheers as they pass by, playing songs of fanfare. Since Rachel first heard these songs as a small child, they have never failed to inspire feelings of pride for Rome's victories, and she finds that it still holds true even now.

The spoils of war come next. Cartloads of Gallic armor, weapons, and coins are hauled by prisoners of war turned slaves. Rachel has only been to a handful of triumphs—most memorably that of her papa—and she has only ever felt satisfaction at the sight of these war trophies. But now, there are unbidden thoughts—things suddenly taking a personal note. _Does Quinn know any of these men? Were they her friends?_

Rachel frowns and swallows thickly, trying to push away the unpleasant thoughts. _It doesn't matter. They're still enemies of Rome_ , she tells herself, purposefully ignoring what that makes Quinn as she brings her attention to the pair of beautiful, white bulls—a sacrifice for Jupiter—that follow.

Behind them, the arms and insignia of the fallen Gallic tribes are displayed along with images of the conquered cities and the names of the conquered people. Rachel catches sight of the tribe of Arverni's name—the yellows and reds of their insignia flapping in the breeze—and her grip unconsciously tightens around the flowers in her hands.

Next are the emperor's lictors, who carry fasces wreathed with laurel, and the cheers of adulation begin to mount. Rachel lets out a long breath and loosens her grip, her curiosity growing as she peers further down the road to see four white horses pulling the emperor's chariot.

And then Rachel finally sees him through the flowers being showered upon him by the cheering masses—Emperor Sejanus, standing proud and tall in his chariot. He's even more handsome than Rachel remembers, and his laurel crown and _tunica palmata_ —a highly decorative purple tunic covered in gold embroidery of foliage with its rich, colored stripes along the trim—give him an almost godly aura.

Rachel gets swept up in the crowd's enthusiasm and experiences a rush of excitement, and she cheers as he passes by, tossing her flowers in the emperor's direction along with the rest of the citizens surrounding her.

Finally, taking up the rear are the unarmed, high-ranking soldiers who served under Sejanus in the Gallic war, but Rachel, and seemingly almost everyone around her, hardly notices them. All eyes follow Sejanus's chariot as it travels up the road and then finally stops outside the Temple of Jupiter.

He gracefully steps down from the chariot and walks over to the pair of white bulls, where a priest and the vestal virgins await next to the altar. The virgins offer Sejanus wine and sacred bread, which he then takes and sprinkles over the bulls' heads. The priest then hands Sejanus a ceremonial dagger. With practiced ease, he slits each of the animals' throats, causing them to fall to the ground as their lives are offered up to Jupiter.

Two of the emperor's lictors then step forward to take ceremonial blades from the priest and proceed to cut open the bulls, removing the most vital organs and placing them on the altar that sits outside the temple. Sejanus then takes a torch and sets fire to them, murmuring what Rachel presumes to be prayers to Jupiter under his breath. _I give that you might give_ , is how it goes.

The priest then fastens a blindfold around his head and whispers another prayer over the sacrificed animals and their burning entrails while one of the vestal virgins plays a flute.

The sacrifice complete, Sejanus then enters the Temple of Jupiter along with his lictors and the priest, while the crowd outside awaits with baited breath. The final part of the ceremony calls for an offering of his laurel crown to Jupiter along with the lighting of incense.

Long moments later, the emperor exits the temple, his crown still affixed atop his head, drawing awed murmurs from the assembled citizens.

"Does he think himself a god?" Curtius mutters under his breath, and Rachel shoots an odd look in his direction.

"It's not unheard of for an emperor to permanently retain the title of imperator," she refutes quietly so as not to draw attention to their conversation. "After all, he isn't like the rest of us."

"He's still mortal," he argues before clamping his mouth shut.

Rachel eyes him strangely, but before she can say anything more, her father begins to address the still-gathered crowd outside of the temple.

"People of Rome!" he calls out, coming to stand alongside Sejanus. "The triumph of Emperor Sejanus is now complete. He would like to invite you all to share in a banquet to celebrate this evening."

The declaration is met with cheers from the citizens of Rome. Rachel watches her father turn to say something to the emperor, and Sejanus nods, offering her father a smile as he clasps their hands together. It gives her an odd feeling, but before she can consider it, Curtius has looped his arm in hers. "Come on, let's get to celebrating," he says, and Rachel isn't sure how to interpret his tone, but she gets the impression that he's less than thrilled.

She decides it doesn't matter. She's determined to enjoy herself tonight.

* * *

Rachel is escorted to Sejanus's palace by both of her fathers. The moment she enters the massive dining room—it's at least five times the size of the one in her home—there is no doubt that this banquet is by far the most extravagant she's ever attended. Her senses are instantly overwhelmed by the sounds of music, the sight of dancers, and the smell of freshly cooked food.

Most of the citizens are partaking in the lavish public banquet in the forum, but the patricians, politicians, and high-ranking soldiers have been invited to celebrate with the emperor himself in his home.

Rachel soon spots Curtius involved in what looks to be a deep conversation with one of those young politicians he's been spending so much time with lately—Aurelian, she thinks his name is.

Her papa excuses himself shortly after their arrival and wanders off to talk with Lieutenant Brutus. Rachel exchanges pleasantries with a few girls she is acquainted with—daughters of other senators—as she and her father continue to move through the crowd.

Rachel smiles to herself when she sees Hostia and her husband, one of the lieutenants fighting under Sejanus, happily reunited. Hostia's admitted to Rachel that they don't love each other, but they respect each other and have deep affection for one another. They freely take other lovers to their beds, and Rachel thinks their relationship is a bit unusual, but it works.

"Rachel," her father says a little excitedly, drawing her attention to him. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

His tone makes her a little uneasy, but she allows him to lead her toward a small group, where the emperor is laughing along with a few of his generals. Rachel feels herself grow inexplicably nervous as she realizes she is about to meet the emperor, a man that she has always revered but who has never seemed quite real to her. Sejanus's eye catches Rachel and her father approaching, and he excuses himself, meeting them halfway.

"Senator Hirrus," he greets her father with a warm smile.

"Emperor Sejanus," her father replies in kind. "I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Rachel."

Sejanus smiles at her then before addressing them both. "Is this the same Rachel I've been hearing about—the one with the voice that would make Apollo himself jealous?"

Rachel blushes, and her father beams proudly. "The same," he confirms. "She also plays the cithara masterfully."

"Very impressive," Sejanus says, looking pleasantly surprised and somewhat intrigued as he gazes intently at Rachel. "I'm something of a musician myself, you know," he tells her. "I would love to have the opportunity to perform with you sometime."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "That would be lovely," she says, almost beside herself.

"Pardon the interruption," Senator Romulus says then, seemingly coming out of nowhere as he steps alongside the trio. "I need to borrow Senator Hirrus for a moment."

"That's fine," Sejanus replies, motioning with his head for her father to take his leave. He smiles charmingly at Rachel then. "I'd love to have the chance to talk to Rachel some more."

Her father looks pleased by this, and Rachel can't help but feel a bit awed as Sejanus holds his arm out for her to take. She delicately places her left hand in the crook of his elbow, and as he leads her across the room, Rachel is all-too-aware of the curious eyes of the other partygoers watching them, but she can't say that she doesn't like the attention.

"So besides music, what else do you enjoy doing?" Sejanus asks, letting go of her arm as he comes to a stop in a quieter corner of the room, continuing to take Rachel by surprise. She almost can't believe that the _emperor_ is actually interested in anything about her.

"I'm actually quite fond of the Games," she says, immediately thinking of Quinn and unable to stop the smile that comes to her face as a result.

"Are you now?" he replies with an excited glint in his eyes. "I have a few ideas in mind for the first set of Games that I'll be hosting. I'm thinking a retelling of my most recent conquests in Gaul would make for an entertaining and educational fare."

Rachel's smile falters slightly at the mention of his conquest—the reality of what that meant for Quinn suddenly hitting her once again. She should hate what Sejanus has done, and a part of her does. But he is still the emperor of Rome, and there is nothing greater than the glory of their empire. She doesn't know how she should feel about this man—someone who she has always admired and who is practically revered as a god by some—standing in front of her.

"Something wrong?" he asks, his brow furrowing in concern at her dismay.

"No, everything's fine," Rachel lies, smiling a little too brightly. "I think that sounds like an excellent idea."

"I'm glad you agree," he replies. "After all, I heard my cousin Andronicus put on an extraordinary set of Games in my stead, and I would be remiss not to meet the challenge of doing one better."

"They were quite spectacular," she confirms, unable to stop thinking of Quinn, and she has the uncomfortable thought of how Quinn would feel if she knew exactly what Rachel was doing right now. She lets out an uneasy breath as she meets Sejanus's eyes. "But I'm certain yours will be even better."

His lips curve up smugly, clearly pleased with her response. "I've heard that one of the Gauls that I declared ad ludum has made quite a name for herself," he says then. "Quinn her name is. Have you seen her?"

Rachel swallows thickly and nods. "I have," she replies, trying not to betray any of the turmoil she's experiencing. "She's probably the most gifted gladiator I've ever seen."

"She is something, but sadly for her tribe, not enough on an actual battlefield," he says a bit haughtily. Rachel clenches her jaw as she recalls what Quinn shared with her about the battle, but she maintains politeness and keeps her mouth shut. "But that was to be expected. After all, my battle plan was impeccable."

"I'm sure," Rachel says tightly, trying to think of a way to change topics. Or even better, just get out of the conversation all together, but that's not an option. "You're probably glad to be home now though, aren't you?"

He nods, offering her another charming smile as he gazes intently at her. "I most certainly am."

Rachel's eyes widen as the meaning of his words sink in, and the sliver of confliction that's been in her heart all day suddenly feels like a riot of anarchy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to poetzproblem for beta reading this chapter. :)
> 
> Character getting their first mention in this chapter: Salehe = Shane Tinsley

A smile plays at Quinn's lips as she presses the edge of a blade into a piece of soft clay, carving out a once familiar triple spiral. It's not just the little bit of freedom Silvanus has given her around the ludus with every passing victory in the arena that has her smiling these days. No, it's the girl that makes that freedom worth it.

A light shuffle sounds behind her, and Quinn pauses in her work to glance over her shoulder, only to see Mhonum walking into the smithy.

"Hey," she greets the other girl before turning her attention back to the clay in her hands.

"Hi," Mhonum replies, taking a seat alongside Quinn. "What are you doing?" she asks, observing Quinn carve out a circle around the spiral.

"Silvanus gave me a leftover piece of brass and some clay, so I'm using it to make something for Rachel," she explains, evening out the last bit of clay. Satisfied with the carving, Quinn then gets up to place it in the kiln to harden into a solid mold for the brass. "Metalwork has never really been my strong suit, and I'm a little out of practice, but hopefully she likes it."

Mhonum smiles. "You really like her, don't you?"

"I do," Quinn replies, her own smile growing wider as she feels herself grow pleasantly warm at the thought of her lover. It amazes her sometimes—the feelings that Rachel elicits in her, feelings she never even knew were possible. Rachel manages to both set her spirit at ease and ignite her passion. The happiness and contentment she feels when they're together is indescribable. Even when they're not together, she feels her lover's pull—like Rachel has made a home in her heart.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks Mhonum as she retakes her seat beside her friend.

She nods. "Sure."

"Have you ever been in love before?"

Mhonum smiles wistfully, and her eyes unfocus for a moment as she seems to get lost in her thoughts. "Yes," she replies after a beat. "With a boy in my village—Salehe. We grew up together, working together in the sorghum fields. I still remember our first kiss during a harvest festival." She pauses, letting out a mournful sigh. "He used to say that he wanted to marry me, but his family was poor like mine, and my father wanted money."

Quinn places a comforting hand on Mhonum's back, knowing that Mhonum's father had sold her into slavery in order to pay off his debts.

"I never had a chance to say goodbye," she says sadly before shaking her head, her expression growing more determined. "But I believe that I will see him again. Somehow, we will find each other."

Quinn smiles sadly at Mhonum. "I hope you do. I'm sorry you lost him. I didn't mean to bring up something so painful."

"It's okay," Mhonum says reassuringly, smiling a little at Quinn to let her know that it really is okay. "Why do you ask anyway?"

"I… well, I was wondering what it felt like," she says, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "You know, being in love."

"There's no better feeling," Mhonum replies with a smile that lights up her whole face. "It feels like home."

And suddenly the things that Rachel makes Quinn feel aren't so indescribable anymore. Quinn smiles and bites down on her lower lip, feeling like she's floating. "I think I might be in love with Rachel," she confesses, and the instant the words leave her mouth, she knows them to be true.

"Yeah?" Mhonum asks with a playful smile and a raised eyebrow.

Quinn lets out a small, exhilarated laugh. "Yeah," she confirms with a nod. "I… gods, who would have thought I'd ever feel this way about a Roman?"

Mhonum laughs along with her. "No one here, that's for sure," she says. "Does she feel the same way?"

Quinn feels a sense of uncertainty settle over her at the question, and her smile falters a bit. "I don't know," she says, sighing a little. "I know she cares about me—probably more than someone of her station should. But… our worlds are so different. I try not to think about the future too much. You know, do what Britt does and just enjoy what I do have with Rachel now."

"That's probably for the best," Mhonum agrees. "Still, you never know what the gods have in store. Maybe you and Rachel will last. Maybe there is a way for you to be together."

"Maybe," she replies, unable to stop the hope that blossoms in her chest at the idea of having a life with Rachel outside the walls of the ludus.

Quinn knows thinking and hoping for such things is probably foolish, but her heart wants nothing more than for that to be true.

* * *

Quinn examines her metalwork one last time before wrapping it in the small piece of white cloth Bestia gave her. She sets it down on the small table alongside the chaise in one of Silvanus's guestrooms and smiles. The pendant she made Rachel actually turned out better than she'd hoped, and she hopes that Rachel will be pleased with it.

She bites her lower lip, trying to hold back her smile as she thinks of her lover, shaking her head a little at just how giddy she feels. Her eyes shift toward the candle on the wall, knowing that Rachel will be here any moment and eagerly anticipating her arrival.

As if on cue, the curtain covering the doorway lifts, and Quinn turns fully to see Rachel walking into the room, the curtain falling back behind her. Her eyes, always so expressive, swirl with mixed emotions, causing Quinn's lips to turn down into a small, concerned frown.

But before Quinn can even get a word out, Rachel has her hands fisted into the front of her tunic, pulling Quinn toward her and pressing her lips insistently against Quinn's. She can't help but react to her lover's touch, and she moans against Rachel's mouth before dipping her tongue inside, kissing Rachel deeply as she brings her hands to Rachel's hips before sliding them down and gripping on to her backside.

Rachel moans into her mouth and pushes Quinn back toward the chaise. Never breaking their kiss, Quinn sits down as Rachel straddles her lap. Slim fingers thread themselves into her hair, pulling at it a little as Rachel bites down on Quinn's lower lip, causing Quinn to hiss in pain.

But Rachel doesn't slow down, instead reaching down and grabbing at Quinn's tunic. Quinn helps her remove it, their kiss only breaking to pull the garment over her head. It lands with a dull thud on the floor, and their eyes meet for a moment. Quinn is struck by the intensity shining back at her, and it takes her breath away.

The next thing Quinn knows, she's on her back. She lets out a gasp as Rachel's mouth attaches itself to her nipple—her back arching up in pleasure as she threads her fingers into brunette locks. Quinn's entire body thrums with desire, and her heart sings with contentment as that talented mouth trails along her torso—kissing, licking, and biting softly against every bit of skin it touches.

Nimble fingers play at the edges of her loincloth, before dipping in and drawing them down Quinn's legs, leaving her completely bare to Rachel's hungry gaze.

Quinn swallows thickly, wondering not for the first time what's going through Rachel's mind. She noticed it last time Rachel was here—the urgency in her touch—but before she can consider it further, Rachel's head is between her thighs, and Quinn forgets what words are.

Rachel's mouth works to bring her to the pinnacle of pleasure, and Quinn digs her heels into the cushion beneath her, pressing herself further against Rachel's talented tongue. Deceptively strong hands grip on to her thighs, and Quinn's mouth falls open as her fingers grip tighter around Rachel's hair, holding her in place. A soft whimper escapes her lips when lips wrap around that sensitive bundle of nerves and suck, causing Quinn to buck against Rachel's mouth.

She's so close.

"Don't stop," she pleads breathlessly.

Rachel hums against her as she continues to suck, sending a pleasant vibration through Quinn and causing her toes to curl. She stiffens suddenly as a bolt of white-hot pleasure courses through her—Rachel's name falling from her lips as she comes.

Quinn gently releases her hold on Rachel's hair and pants softly, trying to catch her breath. Rachel presses a kiss to the inside of Quinn's thigh before climbing up her body and nestling into her side.

"Wow," Quinn finally breathes out, not able to say much else.

She turns her head to look at Rachel, and Rachel slowly brings her gaze to meet Quinn's. Rachel smiles at her then, but there's a trace of what Quinn can only describe as sadness.

"You okay?" Quinn asks then, her brow furrowing in concern.

Rachel sighs. "I'm… I have a lot on my mind," she finally says, looking down for a moment, tracing her fingers along Quinn's abs.

"Want to talk about it?" Quinn asks, shivering a little at Rachel's touch as she draws her lover closer.

"No," she replies, settling her hand on Quinn's stomach. "I just want to be here with you."

Quinn bites her lower lip worriedly, wishing she could wipe away the sadness from her lover's mind—that she could make Rachel feel as good as she feels right now.

"I think I have something that might make you feel better," she says after a few moments.

She untangles herself from Rachel, sitting up on the chaise, and reaches over to the small table beside them. She snatches up the wrapped cloth and discreetly deposits its contents into her hand, tightening her grip and feeling the cool metal warm against her palm.

Rachel sits up, watching Quinn curiously. "What is that?"

"I wanted to give you something—a token of my affection," Quinn replies earnestly. "So I made something for you. I know it isn't much, but I hope you'll accept it anyway," she finishes, opening her palm and showing Rachel the spiral pendant.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel says as she reaches out to take it, her face an indecipherable mix of emotions as she stares at it, and Quinn prays that she didn't just cross some line that she shouldn't have. Rachel closes her eyes for a moment before looking back up at Quinn with what she can only describe as affection. "It's beautiful," she says, causing relief to wash over Quinn. "Thank you so much." She offers Quinn a watery smile before looking back down at the pendant. "What does it mean?"

"It's the spiral of life—a sacred symbol of my people," she explains. "It can mean different things, depending on who's giving it and why, but in this case, it represents your mind, body, and spirit. The circle around it is meant to protect those things. To protect you." Quinn pauses, gazing at Rachel intently as she reaches down and slides her fingers between Rachel's, clasping the pendant between their palms. "The way I wish to protect you."

Rachel looks at her with shining eyes as she tightens her fingers around Quinn's hand. "Can you put it on me?"

Quinn nods, taking the pendant from her and placing it over her head. She had fashioned its cord just long enough so the pendant could be hidden beneath Rachel's stola, resting right against her heart.

Rachel reaches up and brushes her fingers against the pendant, and Quinn swallows, considering whether or not to tell her the other meanings contained in the spiral. But she can't seem to gather the courage to actually say the words.

Seemingly oblivious to Quinn's inner struggle, Rachel lifts her left hand, threading her fingers through blonde locks. Quinn focuses on those eyes gazing at her with so much emotion, it takes Quinn's breath away. "Rachel, I-" she starts, but her words are swallowed up in a deep, sensual kiss, which Quinn returns with equal measure. She wraps her arms around Rachel's back, drawing her lover in close, wishing she could stay like this with Rachel forever.

After long moments, their kiss finally breaks, and Rachel takes a shuddering breath as she trails her mouth along Quinn's jawline. And that's when Quinn feels something wet against her cheek. Her brow furrows, and her heart pangs as she realizes that Rachel is crying.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks worriedly, shifting away from Rachel's questing mouth so she can see her.

Rachel's eyes flutter open to meet concerned hazel. Her eyes shine with tears, and Quinn feels her heart break at the sight. Rachel shakes her head before burying it against Quinn's chest and clinging to her upper back, breathing deeply before letting out another shuddering breath.

"What's wrong?" Quinn tries again, her touch growing gentler as she rubs her palms soothingly across Rachel's lower back. "Talk to me, Rachel."

Rachel only continues to silently cry against her, and Quinn worries her lower lip, wishing she could take away whatever it is that's causing Rachel so much distress.

"Is it something I did?" she asks even though she's fairly certain it isn't considering Rachel is clinging to her like she'll never let go.

"No," Rachel refutes, sniffling as she pulls back enough to look at Quinn. "Gods, no. It's… I don't know what to do anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Brown eyes gaze up at her almost desperately. "I want more than just these stolen, hidden moments with you. I wish…" she stops short, her breath hitching as she lets out a small sob. "I wish I could be with you— _really_ be with you. But I can't, and I don't know whether to curse the gods for letting me fall in love with you or be grateful to them for bringing you into my life."

Quinn's breath gets caught in her throat, and her eyes glisten at Rachel's confession. "You… you love me?"

"Yes," Rachel replies, her eyes shining with so much emotion, it makes Quinn heart ache. "I do. I love you, Quinn. So much."

"I love you too," Quinn breathes out.

Rachel mashes her lips together, looking like she doesn't know whether to smile or cry, and Quinn is starting to feel the same way. "It's not fair," Rachel says, shaking her head as a fresh tears spring to her eyes. "It's not-"

Quinn swallows and lets out a shaky breath, trying to be strong. "I know," she says. "I wish more than anything that I wasn't a slave—that I was free and could give you everything you deserve to have."

Rachel looks upon her then, her expression growing more conflicted. She bites her lower lip, seemingly hesitating.

"What?" Quinn asks.

"I might be able to plead your case for freedom."

Hope blossoms in Quinn's chest, but it's tempered by the look in Rachel's eyes. "How?"

"I know the emperor," Rachel says, and Quinn instantly tenses, recoiling from Rachel's touch as if burned. Her words sting like betrayal, and Rachel immediately looks regretful. "Quinn…" she pleads, reaching out.

Quinn jumps up from the chaise, shaking her head. "What do you mean you know the emperor?" she asks, feeling herself grow defensive.

"I only met him recently at a banquet," Rachel explains, staring up at her imploringly. "And the entire time, all I could think about was you."

"If you met him recently…" Quinn trails off, feeling her stomach twist at the realization. "That means he's back in Rome."

Rachel nods, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

Quinn shakes her head again, pacing the room and feeling the overwhelming urge to hit something—preferably the emperor. "Gods," she mutters, stopping dead in her tracks as she realizes what this means. The emperor will no doubt be hosting the next set of Games, and she'll have to fight in them.

The anger that surges up in her is frightening in its intensity, and Quinn barely manages to reign it in. She runs her hands through her hair, and grips tightly as the memories of everything Sejanus has done comes rushing back to her. Angry tears sting her eyes as she clenches her jaw in frustration.

"Quinn," Rachel's pleading voice cuts into her thoughts.

She swallows down her heartache and wipes at her eyes before turning them back toward Rachel. She looks so miserable sitting there on the chaise—so guilty and conflicted. Quinn watches as Rachel cautiously gets up from her seat and walks toward her. She doesn't attempt to get away from her approaching lover this time, but she's still feeling incredibly raw.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, stopping mere inches from Quinn. "I didn't mean to get you so upset. I just… I know how you feel about the emperor, but he can set you free, Quinn."

"He'll never set me free me, Rachel," Quinn replies, unable to keep the frustration and anger out of her voice. "I'm going to die a gladiator."

Rachel's eyes shine with unshed tears as she takes Quinn's hands in hers. "You won't," she says determinedly. "I won't let that happen. I love you too much."

Rachel's words—the reminder of how she truly feels—are enough to calm the storm raging inside Quinn. The fact that Rachel loves her—that Rachel feels the same way about her—was nearly lost in all her anger, and it's something she can't bear to lose.

Quinn tightens her hold on Rachel's hands and lets out a steadying breath as she gazes intently into brown eyes.

She prays that the gods are on their side.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to poetzproblem for beta reading this chapter. :)
> 
> Character making their first appearance in this chapter: Balba = Becky Jackson

Rachel makes her way through the bustling forum—not sure if the light sheen of sweat forming on her brow is from the sweltering heat of late summer or the anxiousness that has been consuming her for the better part of the day. She has less than half a candlemark to get to where she needs to be this afternoon, but right now, she wishes more than anything that her feet were taking her someplace else.

Rachel pauses in her steps and casts a long look down the road that leads to the ludi—that leads to Quinn—and unconsciously, she lifts her hand to her heart, her fingers tracing over the pendant resting there. She frowns and feels a stab of guilt over the things she is hiding from her lover.

Quinn still has no idea that Rachel's fathers are looking for a husband for her or what the reason was behind Rachel's initial meeting with the emperor a few weeks ago… or why she isn't going to see Quinn today and instead will take another road.

Rachel lets out a regretful sigh and presses her lips together before continuing to walk—not toward the ludi but toward the palace—and her guilt grows with every step. If Quinn knew where she was going today and why, Rachel knows she would be gutted.

And she can't bear to do that to Quinn—can't bear to be the source of any more pain for her lover who has already had to endure so much, especially at Sejanus's hand.

As Rachel approaches the palace, she presses her hand to her heart once more and tries to push down her guilt. She hopes that she can somehow makes things right.

_I promise you, Quinn. I'll do whatever I can to free you, even if we can't be together._

She tries to ignore the awful way her stomach twists at the thought of not being with Quinn and hides the pendant beneath her stola.

The emperor awaits.

Rachel is greeted in the vestibule by one of Sejanus's slaves and led through the massive atrium and down one of the halls to where Sejanus is waiting for her. Everything about this place is enormous, easily dwarfing the rooms in her home, and that combined with the reason she's even here makes Rachel feel like she's in some strange dream.

She finds herself wishing this was, in fact, all just a dream and that any moment now, she would wake up from it. It's still so conflicting. She had admired Sejanus for years, but then Quinn went and turned that admiration on its head.

Rachel isn't sure what to expect when the slave finally comes to a stop and pulls open a large door, gesturing for Rachel to go in, but seeing Sejanus playing a small lyre on a stage of what looks to be his own personal theater is not it.

Her jaw drops slightly, and despite herself, she can't help but be awed at the sight of the room—the stage especially, and all the instruments on hand. And she knows it shouldn't come as a surprise—after all, he is the emperor—but Sejanus is clearly a talented musician in his own right.

Sejanus smiles broadly at Rachel as he catches sight of her, pausing in his playing. "It's wonderful to see you again, Rachel," he says, placing his instrument down before walking toward her. He looks genuinely happy that she's here, and Rachel really doesn't know what to do with that.

Rachel is quick to remember her manners, and she offers him what she hopes looks like a pleasant smile, wondering if there's a way to quiet the conflict in her heart. "Thank you for inviting me," she says, hoping he doesn't see through her façade as he offers her his arm to take, which of course, she does.

"You're welcome," he replies, leading her up the small staircase and onto the stage. "I hope you don't mind that I got started without you. I'm known to be rather impatient," he adds with a smirk.

"It's alright," she says agreeably even though her stomach feels a little funny at his words.

Sejanus stops them in front of a pair of large, cushioned chairs set up at the center of the stage. There is a small table between them with a spread of food and drinks, and Rachel notices a few slaves off in the wings ready for anything the emperor may need.

"Have a seat," he commands gently, gesturing toward one of the chairs.

Rachel does as he says and watches curiously as he picks up one of the most finely crafted citharas she's ever seen.

He turns to her, once again offering her a warm smile, and places the cithara in her hands. She carefully cradles it in her lap and looks at Sejanus curiously.

"There's nothing more that I love then unwinding from a busy day with some music," he explains, settling down in the chair next to her and looking at her expectantly. "Will you play for me, Rachel?"

She nods, almost unable to believe that the emperor wants her to play for him. Everything about this encounter is so surreal.

Rachel's fingers then go to the strings, and she starts to play. As the first notes sound, she immediately falls in love with the instrument. It is without a doubt the finest cithara she has ever played.

The piece she performs is one of her own, and Sejanus watches her with rapt attention, his lips curving up into a content smile as Rachel continues to play. Rachel finds his gaze a little distracting, so she closes her eyes and focuses on the instrument in her hands and the song she is playing, momentarily losing herself in the music.

"Your father wasn't lying," Sejanus says after the final notes ring out, clearly awed by what he just heard. "You are, without a doubt, the most talented cithara player I have ever heard."

"Thank you." Rachel ducks her head, feeling uncharacteristically shy from his praise. The way her emotions are bouncing around today are practically making her dizzy. She still has no idea how to feel about Sejanus—how to reconcile Rome's godlike hero, who has shown her nothing but kindness, with the monstrous things he's done to Quinn.

She reaches for one of the goblets next to her and brings it to her lips, taking a long pull of water, trying to focus. Despite the terrible things he's done, the fact is, he is the only one who can free Quinn, and Rachel hasn't forgotten her promise.

If she's going to be forced to spend time with the emperor, she realizes she better be making the most of it.

Rachel smiles at Sejanus sweetly then. "Can we try playing something together? I'd love to hear you play some more."

She finds it's not actually a complete lie. Playing music with others is something she's always loved doing.

"I thought you'd never ask," Sejanus replies with another pleased smile before picking up his lyre. "How about a little improvisation?"

* * *

"I'd love to perform with you again," Sejanus tells Rachel as they walk together through the halls of the palace to one of his smaller dining rooms. "Perhaps next time for an audience. We make a formidable combination."

"That would be lovely," Rachel replies, wishing she would stop feeling like she's being torn in two. Playing with Sejanus had been kind of wonderful, and the fact that she even enjoyed it at all makes her feel terrible.

She is momentarily distracted from those thoughts when they enter Sejanus's private dining room, and she takes in the sight of two elaborate chaises with silk pillows catty-cornered and a small table between them—a pair of slaves on hand, ready to serve Sejanus and Rachel. The walls are covered by intricate paintings of Venus and Dionysus, and, as Rachel anticipated, a slave with a lyre is in the corner.

"He's not as good as me," Sejanus says with a smug grin as he notices where Rachel's gaze is, "but I can't play all the time."

Rachel can't help but let out a small laugh at his remark, which seems to please him.

As they settle on their respective chaises, Sejanus looks at Rachel, and his grin turns into a warm smile. She can see happiness and desire shining in blue eyes, causing all of Rachel's uncertainty to come rushing back. "You really are incredible, Rachel," he says without any hint of pretense. "I'm so glad your father introduced us."

"So am I," she lies with a smile, but the emperor seems none the wiser as he raises his glass to her.

Conversation is fairly light over the first two courses—Sejanus mostly regaling her with stories from his youth, and how he has plans to build a new theater in Rome and name it after his late father, Emperor Schlerus. The fact that he doesn't mention his recent conquests makes it easier for Rachel to relax and even share some stories of her own.

"You'll be pleased to know that my Games will be starting in a month's time," Sejanus tells her as the second course is cleared away.

"So soon?" Rachel asks, surprised by the revelation. Surely he would wait until some time had passed since Andronicus's Games—at the very least, not until the spring.

"Like you said yourself, my cousin put on a spectacular set of Games that, from what I understand, had Rome abuzz with excitement," he explains. "I want to keep that excitement going, but I want the people's attention to be where it should be—on what I achieved in Gaul."

Rachel's stomach flips uncomfortably at his words, but she senses an opportunity. "Speaking of which," she says, deciding to take a chance and praying that Sejanus will be receptive. "The Gaul you captured, Quinn."

"What about her?" he asks curiously before taking a sip of his wine.

Rachel's palms begin to sweat a bit as she realizes this might be her only chance, and she has to get this right. "She is my favorite gladiator by far."

Sejanus lips curve up then, and his eyes light up in amusement. "Good thing I decided to keep her alive then."

Rachel swallows, trying to keep her true emotions from betraying her. "Yes, well, I was hoping, as a favor to me, that you might consider freeing her."

His smile falls and his features darken, causing Rachel's stomach to drop. "Absolutely not," Sejanus says with a shake of his head. "She is a war criminal, and this is her sentence. She doesn't deserve freedom."

Desperation grips her then, and Rachel refuses to let this chance slip through her fingers. There has to be a way. "Please reconsid-"

"I will not," he interrupts, his hard tone brokering no argument. "Don't ask me again, Rachel."

She nods, doing her best to school her features as she swallows down her anger and disappointment.

Sejanus smiles once more, easily moving on to another topic of conversation, but Rachel doesn't miss the questioning sliver in his gaze, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

When Rachel finally leaves the palace later that evening, her first thought is to go to Quinn—to run and hide and escape in her—but she knows she can't right now. Her fathers are expecting her at home, and they had both been so pleased about her meeting with emperor today.

All she can think is that she has failed Quinn and because of that this entire day has been a disaster. _I'm sorry, Quinn_ , she thinks, unable to stop the frustrated tears that sting her eyes as she makes her way home. The idea that Quinn will one day die in the arena makes her feel sick, and the fact that she can't seem to do anything to stop it, despite her promise, is the most helpless feeling.

To make matters worse, despite the unpleasant turn taken during dinner, Sejanus wants to see her again.

Rachel frowns and twists her hands into her stola. Of all the girls in all of Rome, why did Sejanus have to notice her?

She prays that the emperor's eye will soon wander elsewhere and that he will lose interest in her.

* * *

 _Carpe diem_ is what the great poet Horace so recently said, and Rachel has decided that this is how she should be spending her days, especially the ones where she can actually be with Quinn since she doesn't know how many more of them they will have.

So she tries the best she can to push aside all thoughts of Sejanus, her fathers, and the posters advertising the next Games hanging up in the forum, determined to fully enjoy her time with Quinn.

She would have liked to have gotten to Silvanus's ludus early enough to watch Quinn train today, but Curtius had been visiting and ended up staying longer than expected. He was none-to-happy about how soon the Games were being held—complaining about Sejanus's impulsiveness and how it's putting unnecessary strain on Rome's finances—and his disdain for Sejanus gave Rachel the opportunity she needed to vent about the emperor's apparent courtship.

Curtius's reaction had been curious to say the least. She hesitated to call it sympathy, because even though he didn't like that Sejanus had taken an interest in Rachel, she knew his feelings had little to do with where her heart truly lay. Sometimes she wishes she understood what went on in his head.

When Rachel arrives at the ludus, she is greeted by one of Silvanus's slaves, Balba. "They're still training," she tells Rachel, to her pleasant surprise. "You can go watch if you want."

She makes her way through the atrium and out onto the balcony that overlooks the arena, and what she sees makes her take pause—her brow furrowing in concern.

Quinn is unleashing a relentless assault on Saoirse, who is doing her best to defend every attack, but Quinn forces her way through her defense several times—her fist connecting solidly with Saoirse's face and torso.

But there's something about the way that Quinn's fighting that tells Rachel this isn't a simple sparring match, and the fact that Silvanus, Bestia, and the rest of the gladiatrices are looking on with varying expressions of worry confirms Rachel's suspicions.

Saoirse staggers a bit from another blow to the face, and Quinn suddenly tackles her to the ground, straddling Saoirse and pulling her fist back, ready to deliver another strike.

"That's enough, Quinn!" Silvanus yells, but Quinn is either oblivious to her command or is purposefully ignoring her as she slams her fist into Saoirse's face, prompting Bestia to spring into action.

She wraps her arms around Quinn from behind, pinning Quinn's arms to her sides as she pulls her off of Saoirse—not an easy task with how much Quinn is trying to fight her. Bestia looks to be murmuring something in Quinn's ear, and then, finally, she stops struggling. But her body remains tense, and she is still breathing heavily, causing Rachel's worry and bewilderment grow.

Rachel worries her lower lip when Saoirse is slow to get up—Britt at her side, helping her come to stand. Her lip is bloodied and her face is bruised, but to Rachel's surprise, she doesn't appear to be upset in the slightest. Instead, she looks at Quinn with concerned and sympathetic eyes as she wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Britt helps Saoirse walk out of the arena, and the rest of the gladiatrices follow behind them silently while Silvanus, Bestia, and Quinn remain.

Mhonum notices Rachel then and looks at her gravely as she stands under the balcony.

"What happened?" Rachel asks her.

"Bad day," is all Mhonum says. "She needs you."

Rachel presses her lips together and nods in thanks before looking back toward Quinn, who is still being held in the strong grip of Bestia.

Silvanus is speaking lowly to Quinn, and Rachel can't make out what's being said, but it doesn't seem to be doing much to calm Quinn down, although the fight seems to have left her.

Bestia lets go of Quinn then, and she leads her to the far end of the arena. She wishes Quinn would turn around—just so she could see her face, make sure she's okay—but she disappears inside the ludus, leaving Rachel to wonder what in the world just happened.

Silvanus looks up at Rachel then as she walks closer to the balcony, and for a moment, Rachel is afraid that Silvanus is going to tell her to leave. "Can I still see Quinn?" she asks.

Silvanus purses her lips. "She's already on her way to the guest room, so, yes, you can see her," she replies, but her irritation is evident. "But keep it short. I'm not very happy with her at the moment."

Rachel frowns a little, but there is still a sense of relief over being able to see her lover. She turns around to go back into the villa, taking the familiar path toward the guest room. But her relief is short-lived as images of what she just saw in the arena flash through her mind, and her concern grows with every step.

When she finally reaches her destination, Rachel finds Quinn sitting on the chaise, her elbows resting on her knees and her forehead buried in her hands. Her fingers tighten in her hair as she takes a shuddering breath, and Rachel's heart cracks at the sight.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel says softly, quickly erasing the distance between them and settling down beside her. She wraps a comforting arm around her back, the tension in Quinn's body evident. "What's wrong?"

Quinn looks up at Rachel then, her eyes shining with angry, unshed tears, causing Rachel's heart to get caught in her throat. Quinn's hands clench into fists, and she stares down at her lap. "It's been exactly one year since my family was executed," she explains lowly, her voice cracking as a tear escapes her eyes. She angrily wipes it away. "One year since Sejanus declared me ad ludum."

Rachel presses her lips together, feeling a wave of sympathy for her lover (and a sharp pang of guilt over her failure to make a case for Quinn's freedom). She reaches out with her free hand, covering one of Quinn's fists with it, and rests her forehead against Quinn's shoulder as she holds her closer.

"And I just found out today that I'm going to have to fight in the Games commemorating _his_ victories over _my_ people—over my father and my tribe."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel says, pressing a kiss just below the brand on Quinn's upper arm.

"I can't do this, Rachel," Quinn admits brokenly, her eyes shining with a vulnerability Rachel has never seen before. "I can't go through this again, even if it's just a reenactment."

"I take it Silvanus won't let you sit out these Games."

Quinn laughs bitterly and wipes away a few more tears that escape her eyes. "Even if she would—which she won't because I make her too much money—it's not her call to make. Sejanus has planned all the fights himself. And he'll make it so we lose."

Rachel holds Quinn closer, trying to push down the unpleasant feeling in her stomach as her own anger rises up. "You can show him then," she says with as much determination as she can muster. "Show him how strong you are and that you won't ever give up. Don't let him win, Quinn."

Quinn lets out a long, shaky breath then. Her body is still tense beneath Rachel's touch, but her distress seems to have lessened at Rachel's words. She unclenches her fist and turns her palm up, interlacing her fingers with Rachel's.

Rachel presses another kiss to Quinn's upper arm. "I love you, Quinn. Please don't give up."

"I won't," Quinn says, quietly but determinedly.

"Good," Rachel murmurs against her skin.

She closes her eyes and breathes Quinn in, telling herself not to give up either.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to poetzproblem for being an awesome beta and giving me some great suggestions. Also, many thanks to angelffxmaniac for helping me sort out a crucial detail of this chapter. :)
> 
> Character making their first appearance in this chapter: Dierk = Dave Karofsky

Quinn stares down at herself for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. Gone is the plain, light-blue tunic she normally wears in the arena. Instead, it's been replaced with a dark-green and blue plaid tunic and a pair of striped, brown pants—the same clothing she wore back home in Arverni.

Wearing these clothes again while tucked away in the underbelly of the Colosseum makes her feel like she's in some twisted dream—a nightmare, really. She's been dreading this day since she first learned of Sejanus's plans for his Games, and his apparent desire for authenticity has done nothing to quell that feeling.

The sudden roar of the crowd above her, chanting Sejanus's name, makes her stomach twist a little, and she lifts her head to take in the sight around her. On the far end of the large room she is in, a handful of heavily-armored, seasoned gladiators from Cato's ludus are going through their prefight ritual. They have been picked to fight as "Gauls" alongside Silvanus's girls, but there's still quite a bit of resentment between them after the last set of Games, which saw seven of Cato's fighters die at the gladiatrices's hands.

Standing near the tunnel closest to the unopened gate are around four dozen men—mere criminals condemned to the arena, many with little to no fighting experience under their belts—dressed as the light infantry of her tribe would. Most look absolutely terrified, while a few others are doing their best to put on brave faces.

 _Lambs to the slaughter_ , Quinn thinks, her lip curling in disgust at Sejanus's tactics.

It's no secret to anyone participating in today's reenactment of the Battle of Arverni who is supposed to win, and the thought makes Quinn's resentment of Sejanus grow. But there's still the ever-present feeling of dread, especially knowing that he's sitting up in his box at this very moment, being cheered by the mob and waiting to revel in his victory over her people. It makes her sick to her stomach.

She expels a harsh breath and clenches her jaw as she turns to face her fellow gladiatrices, trying to focus and gather her resolve as she takes her armor and sword from Bestia and prepares for the fight ahead of her.

Her vow to Rachel hasn't changed—she isn't going to give up.

Just the thought of her lover helps to settle something inside Quinn. Over the last few weeks, Rachel has been her anchor, keeping her from succumbing to the anger and sadness that has been threatening to swallow her whole. She doesn't even want to think of what she'd be feeling right now if it weren't for Rachel, and, not for the first time, she thanks Sucellus for bringing Rachel's love to shine light into the darkness of her life.

* * *

Quinn stands in between Britt and Mhonum—the gladiatrices lined up side-by-side as they wait in the tunnel that leads to the arena. She shifts her weight from side to side, trying to keep her focus as she concentrates on the feeling of her sword in her hand. There's a restless sort of energy that swirls around them— _fear_ , she thinks—and it reminds her of the moments leading up to her tribe's final battle with Sejanus's troops.

"You okay?" Mhonum asks quietly, thankfully breaking Quinn out of her thoughts. She looks over to see her friend gazing at her with concerned eyes.

"Yeah," she lies before letting out a long breath. "You?"

"A little nervous," Mhonum admits with a small frown. "I've never fought in a fight this big."

"You'll be fine," Sukie says from beside Mhonum, offering her a small but confident smile.

"She's right," Quinn agrees, trying to put her at ease. "You're one of the best fighters I've ever seen. Just remember what Silvanus and Bestia have taught you and what we've practiced."

Mhonum nods firmly, and Quinn can see her regain a little more of the assuredness she normally carries. Quinn doesn't blame her for being nervous though—even Silvanus seemed resigned to the fact that her "investment will no longer pay dividends" as she so bluntly stated.

"Ladies and gentleman!" the orator's voice booms through the Colosseum, filtering through the still-closed gate and grabbing their attention. "One of the greatest battles ever fought by Rome's armies was helmed by our own emperor, Gaius Julius Sejanus! After learning of the Gallic barbarian King Ruaidhri's intention to invade Rome and claim it as his own, Sejanus led his troops to the _oppidum_ of Arverni, where, despite being outnumbered, he was victorious!"

The crowd roars, once again chanting Sejanus's name, and Quinn feels her anger flare as the gate begins to open.

Another horn blares, and the crowd settles down, allowing the orator to continue. "Emperor Sejanus now brings you the tribe of Arverni!"

Boos rain down as their small army begins to step out into the arena, and Quinn mentally shakes her head at the fickleness of the crowd. Last time she was in the Colosseum, they were cheering and chanting her name.

"Oh no," Britt murmurs just as Quinn's feet touch the sand, and it's then that she sees it—a half-dozen thatched-roof round-huts exactly like the ones in her city. The sight makes her stop dead in her tracks, her stomach dropping and twisting unpleasantly. She begins to tremble with anger as her mind is assaulted with her last memories of home.

A warm, steady hand on her shoulder draws her attention back to the present moment, and Quinn turns to see Mhonum standing beside her, looking at her sympathetically, while the rest of her friends watch her carefully. Quinn narrows her eyes and sets her jaw as she shifts her gaze up toward the imperial box.

Nothing could have prepared her for seeing Emperor Sejanus again, but when she sees him sitting on his throne, his expression so much like the one he wore the last time he laid eyes on her—a smug grin on his face as he looks down at her—she never knew herself to be capable of such hatred. The very sight of him makes her sick, and it does nothing to calm the anger rolling through her.

"He's going to regret not nailing me to a cross," she grits out, her grip on her sword tightening as she continues to glare at him, wishing she could run it through his body.

Trying to channel her anger, she lets out a long breath as she turns her attention back to her friends. "Those men over there," she barks out, gesturing with her sword toward the frightened-looking prisoners, "they're a lost cause. And I don't trust Cato's men as far as I can throw them," she continues, earning a few nods of agreement. "But the seven of us, no matter what happens, we stick together. There's no one else I'd want to be out here with, because I _know_ we can defeat whoever comes out to face us."

"Damn right," Saoirse agrees with a confident nod as the rest of her friends look at Quinn with steely determination. Saoirse's lips curve up into a smirk then. "Let's rewrite some history today."

Gratitude swells in Quinn's chest as she matches her expression, and, not for the first time, she is so glad to have these girls as her _familia_.

A trumpet once again blows, cutting through the crowd.

"And facing them, the Legion of Rome!" the orator announces, causing the mob to once again erupt in raucous cheers as about three-dozen, armed gladiators decked out in the uniforms of Rome's elite soldiers, many on horseback, make their way through the opposite gate.

Quinn knows they're not real Roman soldiers—some of them very well could be Gauls like she is—but the very sight of them causes an unpleasant feeling to rise up in her. She closes her eyes before opening them once more and staring up into the crowd, seeking out her refuge.

Unlike the last time she fought in the Colosseum, Quinn knows where to find her, and she spots her easily now. Rachel is in a box with her fathers, Curtius, Hostia, and a few other people she doesn't recognize, but right now, Quinn only has eyes for Rachel. Their gazes lock—Rachel's eyes shining with unwavering love and belief—and Quinn feels her determination grow.

She'll win this battle. She'll stop Sejanus from celebrating his victory over her people, and, hopefully, earn a fraction of redemption in the eyes of her father, wherever his spirit may rest. And later, she'll wrap herself up in Rachel's arms and forget every bad thing in her life.

Quinn reluctantly tears her eyes away from Rachel and focuses on the opposition who, in short moments, are going to try to end her life and the lives of those she holds in her heart second only to Rachel.

"Remember," Quinn calls out, shifting closer to her friends, who fall into position alongside her as they all drop into their stances, weapons at the ready, "stay close. Watch each others' backs."

And for a final time that day, the trumpets sound out.

Quinn breathes in and then out, eyes narrowing and fists tightening around her sword and shield. She can almost taste the energy in the arena that's threatening to burst as both sides stare each other down.

And then there are war cries as the Romans charge toward the light infantry of the Gauls. Quinn can only watch as at least a dozen of them are impaled on the ends of spears, their pitiful cries filling the arena and causing a chill to wrack her body as the memories of her tribesmen dying the same way flicker in her mind.

The crowd cheers as the bodies hit the floor and the rest of the infantry scatter, running in futility for their lives. The panic is rolling off of them in waves, and the mob clearly delights in it. It makes Quinn's stomach roil.

 _And they think my people are barbarians_ , she thinks with a scowl, feeling her indignation grow as she anticipates the first confrontation with an enemy combatant. She knows Silvanus expects her and her friends to put on a good show, but right now, it's really about survival, and they stand the best chance by waiting things out a bit longer before ending each fight as quickly as possible.

Quinn spares a glace to her left, where she sees Cato's men take up a similar, compact formation while some of the criminals attempt to seek shelter in the round-huts as the Roman horsemen chase them down. It's a mistake, she knows. They're making themselves even easier prey now.

"Look alive!" Saoirse shouts, sending a jolt of energy through Quinn, and she turns back just in time to see three horsemen with spears charging toward them.

She, Britt, and Makelesi step forward and root themselves deeply into their stances, placing their shields in front of their bodies and bracing themselves for impact. The sharp weapons clash loudly against their shields, and Quinn feels the vibration all the way up her arm and into her chest as the point of the spear chips away at the wood.

But she doesn't hesitate for a second, flicking her sword out and slicing the blade into the hide of the horse nearest her.

The animal screams, bucking its rider off its back, and Quinn smirks, feeling a small rush of triumph as the man hits the ground with a dull thud. Before he even has a chance to recover from his fall, she's above him, thrusting her sword down into his throat and killing him instantly.

She feels the next attacker before she sees him, and she barely turns in time to block the sword aimed for her head, weapons meeting with a loud clang as Quinn deflects the horseman's charging attack. He pulls on the reins and quickly turns his horse around, gearing up to charge Quinn again.

"Look out!" Harmonia shouts then, and Quinn turns her head just in time to see several flaming arrows coming toward them. Reacting on instinct, she lifts her shield up to protect herself as she jumps out of the line of fire.

Two arrows embed themselves in the wood of her shield, and she frowns as a familiar sense of dread starts to bubble up, not liking how many similarities to the real Battle of Arverni there are. She spots the archers atop a small watchtower at the opposite end of the arena and hesitates, wondering if she should try to take them out despite mere moments ago urging her friends to stay together, or if she should stay put.

But before she can consider it further, the Roman horseman is coming at her again, and Quinn whips around to face him, once again meeting his sword with a jarring clash as she sidesteps his horse—only to be met with the sight of another horseman's spearhead aimed squarely for her chest.

Desperate to avoid what would be a fatal blow, Quinn throws her shield up as she lowers her body. There's a clash of his weapon against her shield, followed by an explosion of pain in her shoulder, causing her to scream as she's suddenly jerked backward and dragged a few feet by the horse.

Swallowing down her pain, Quinn grits her teeth and quickly releases her hold on her shield and stumbles to regain her footing. She catches sight of her shield caught on a net hanging from the side of the horse as its rider goes after another target, but she figures she can get another one from a fallen gladiator. Assuming she can hold it, that is, she thinks, hissing in pain as she experimentally lifts her left arm.

Another Roman attacker, this one on foot, is on her almost immediately, and, at first, it's all Quinn can do to deflect the blows from his sword as they parry back and forth. He's the best she's faced in the arena, by far, and the pain in her shoulder is distracting. She's acutely aware of the chaos that surrounds her—the clash of weapons, the screams of dying men, and the roar of the crowd.

It's the din of the mob and knowing that her friends are right at her back that keeps Quinn from falling prey to the memories of Arverni that Sejanus has clearly taken great care to replicate in almost every way possible. It keeps her from succumbing to the helpless rage from the loss she experienced at his hands, because Quinn knows she has just as much to fight for right now as she did one year ago. She'll do whatever she can to keep her friends safe the way she couldn't keep her family and her tribe safe.

The thought gives her an extra burst of energy as she starts to gain the upper hand on her opponent. Quinn bares her teeth, and she sees the fear in his eyes.

He meets his end abruptly at the end of Quinn's sword, and she wishes that it was a real Centurion laying at her feet.

"Incoming!" Saoirse shouts, and Quinn looks up to see more flaming arrows coming at them. Saoirse steps in front of Quinn and throws up her shield, protecting them both from the assault, and the Romans' tactic is immediately apparent.

"They're trying to break us apart," Quinn warns, eyeing an approaching Roman with a net in his hand—a sinking feeling in her gut at the sight of it as she ducks out of its path. She slices upward with her sword, only to meet the edge of his shield.

"I know," Saoirse agrees with a scowl, as she starts to battle with an opponent of her own. She curses lowly when his sword cuts into her thigh, blood staining her pants, before unleashing a furious assault.

Quinn feeds off that energy as she lays into her opponent, glad that these "Romans," while better than any gladiators she's faced before, are still a poor imitation of the real thing. She smashes the pommel of her sword up into her opponent's face, breaking his nose and sending him reeling as he stumbles backwards.

Britt, who has stayed close to Saoirse, makes fast work of Quinn's opponent, grabbing him by his chin and slicing his throat before letting him drop dead to the ground.

"Thanks," Quinn says breathlessly as Britt offers her a short nod before blocking another man's attack with her shield and taking him on in yet another swordfight.

As the battle rages on, Quinn catches glimpses of the chaos that surrounds them. One of Cato's men gets crushed between two Romans and crumples to the ground. Blood stains the sands as more and more of the infantry meet their end. She can't even tell which way the fight is going—who is winning, if anyone is.

A decidedly feminine yell sounds from behind her then, and Quinn turns to see Sukie pinned beneath a large, fallen Roman horseman, feeling slightly panicked at the sight.

"Help her!" Quinn shouts out, cursing the fact that her shoulder is likely dislocated, making her unable to help.

Sukie's eyes shine with pain, and she grimaces as Makelesi and Mhonum lift the dead weight of the gladiator off her, and Quinn winces at the awkward angle of her right arm. _Something is definitely broken_ , she thinks with a sympathetic frown as she, Saoirse, Britt, and Harmonia try to keep their charging attackers, with their spears and swords and nets, at bay.

But to Quinn's frustration, the Romans are starting to breach their previously tight-knit formation, placing themselves between the gladiatrices and steadily forcing them apart.

It's then that Quinn smells it, and even though deep down she knew something like this would happen the moment she stepped into the arena, it doesn't make it easier to witness. Her stomach drops as she sees billowing smoke and flames form from the thatched-roof huts—no doubt the result of those flaming arrows—and when she hears the unmistakable sound of men screaming from being burned alive, it's suddenly too real.

A fresh wave of rage courses through her veins, and angry tears sting her eyes as she sets her jaw and turns to the nearest Roman, _needing_ to make them all hurt the way her people were. The desire to run her sword through Sejanus has never been higher, and as she drives her blade through her opponent's stomach, Quinn turns her heated gaze up to the imperial box.

Sejanus's expression is still as self-satisfied as ever, and Quinn almost feels helpless in her anger.

And then before Quinn even knows what's happening, she's airborne. Thin rope digs into the skin of her left arm as she's slammed into the ground and dragged across the sands of the arena by a gladiator on horseback, causing sand to fly up into her face and sting her eyes as her shoulder flares in agony.

She takes in a sharp breath and closes her eyes, panicking for a moment as she remembers the last time she was caught in a net. Only that time, she didn't have her sword.

Her shoulder screams in protest, but Quinn takes hold of her sword with her left hand and, using her manica to protect herself from the blade, presses her weapon upward with her right forearm. She slices through the rope, and, pushing her pain down, she frees herself from the net by rolling out of it.

Quinn springs to her feet and is immediately met with a sword thrust toward her. She barely manages to deflect it before it impales her stomach. Quinn quickly follows through with a powerful slash onto her opponent's wrist, and he hisses in pain as he loses his weapon. She grits her teeth and stabs him in the side, pushing the blade up into his vital organs before pulling the weapon out and watching him fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Quinn tightens her hold on her sword, panting heavily from the pain, adrenaline, and anger coursing through her as she tries to take an inventory of things, needing to know her friends are okay.

To her relief, they're all still mostly together, albeit a little spread out, but the fight has clearly taken its toll on them. Britt seems to have injured her ankle, making her less nimble in her movements, and Saoirse, who Quinn has always known would do anything to keep her safe, lunges to protect her from an incoming spear—getting her own right forearm stabbed in the process.

Makelesi and Harmonia are holding their own while doing what they can to help Sukie, who is clearly struggling with her broken right arm and collarbone.

And that's when Quinn realizes who's missing.

A familiar cry sounds behind her, and immediately, an awful feeling comes over Quinn before she even turns around.

Quinn's heart plummets into her stomach when she sees Mhonum, her face twisted in pain as she falls to the ground—her feet tangled in a net and an arrow jutting out of her upper back.

"No!" Quinn shouts, running as fast as she can to get to her friend, jumping over the dead and wounded bodies that lay in her path. There's no reprieve allowed in this kind of fight, so if Mhonum stands a chance of surviving, she'll need help.

_I'm not losing anyone else because of him._

But there's another gladiator closer to Mhonum, and Quinn can't seem to will her legs to go any faster. All she can do is watch in horror as he stabs Mhonum's prone body with a spear.

Anger floods her at being too late, and Quinn screams as she advances on Mhonum's killer. He turns around just in time to meet his end at Quinn's hand—her sword buried in his gut as she twists the handle, wanting to make him suffer.

She quickly pulls out her blade and looks down at Mhonum with tear-filled eyes. Mhonum stares back up at her, her own eyes filled with pain and fear. Quinn can't help but feel a measure of relief seeing that she's still alive. But she is barely hanging on.

"Quinn," Mhonum rasps out, her eyes closing shut as she grimaces, struggling to take in another breath.

"No, no, no," Quinn pleads, standing protectively above Mhonum and bracing herself for a fight with two more Centurions. "Stay with me, okay?"

Mhonum's afraid, Quinn can tell, and she feels the same kind of helplessness she did back in Arverni when she saw Seanlaoch taken down.

"I… sorry," are the last words Mhonum says before taking one last shuddering breath.

And then she's gone.

"No," Quinn whispers disbelievingly. "No!" she screams as she sees red, unleashing her fury onto the pair of Centurions closing in on her.

Her sword clashes loudly against one man's shield—her strikes rapid and powerful, fueled by the adrenaline and rage coursing through her—and she quickly has him on the defensive.

The other gladiator attempts to hit her from her blind side, but Quinn feels him coming and quickly whips her sword back toward him, clipping his upper arm with her blade. He hisses in pain as he staggers backward, and Quinn's first opponent tries to capitalize on her split focus.

But just as he lifts his arm to deliver a strike of his own, Quinn swiftly sidesteps him and, in a move he can't anticipate, she drives her blade in between the plates of his armor. His eyes widen in pain, and his jaw clenches as he takes his final breath.

Panting, Quinn pulls her sword out and watches his lifeless body fall to the ground before quickly turning to face her second opponent and delivering a solid kick to his kneecap. He cries out as his legs buckle, and Quinn quickly takes advantage, stepping around him and kicking the back of his head, sending him tumbling to his hands and knees as his helmet goes flying. Her sword quickly finds its way to his neck, mercifully ending his life.

Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn catches Dierk, one of Cato's gladiators, taking down the pair of archers atop the watchtower, and she doesn't know whether to be relieved that they're no longer a factor or angry that she won't be the one to kill them after what happened to Mhonum.

The very thought of her friend has Quinn's heart twisting in her chest all over again, and she bares her teeth as she charges another Roman. Their swords clash in a heated exchange of parries, but she is much faster and in better condition than her opponent, and she's in no mood to put on a good show.

She slices into his thigh with her blade and then lunges forward, smashing the hilt of her sword into the side of his head. He staggers on his feet from the blow, and Quinn wastes no time delivering a strike that will kill.

He collapses at her feet, and Quinn knows then that it's over.

Her body shakes as her sword slips from her fingers, dropping onto the sands. She breathes heavily as she looks around the arena, trying to keep herself from collapsing to her knees and crying from all the emotion running through her.

To Quinn's immense relief, Britt, Saoirse, Sukie, Harmonia, and Makelesi are still alive, but the look on their faces when they see Mhonum's fallen body says it all. Two of Cato's men have survived, but Quinn really couldn't care less about them right now. Everyone else is dead or too wounded to continue fighting, and the round-huts, now gutted from the fire and revealing charred bodies, continue to slowly burn.

The crowd is stunned into silence. This was not how the battle was supposed to go, and everyone knows it. Almost all eyes are looking to Sejanus questioningly, but Quinn's aren't among them.

Instead, her eyes fall to Mhonum's lifeless body, and Quinn feels her heart shatter. She drops to her knees and presses her lips together, trying to stop the tears from falling. _I'm sorry_ , she thinks silently, vaguely aware of the presence of the other girls gathering around Mhonum's body. _I'm sorry I couldn't protect you._ Regret flares up in her, wishing she had followed her first instinct to take out the archers. Then maybe… maybe Mhonum would still be here.

It's not fair, she thinks. Mhonum wasn't supposed to die like this. She was supposed to earn her freedom and one day reunite with Salehe. She was supposed to _live_.

Quinn's body shakes as the tears finally escape. She wipes at her eyes before closing them and taking a steadying breath.

 _Belenus, please take care of her spirit_.

She finishes the simple and silent prayer and opens her eyes, looking up at her other friends. Their grief is evident, and Britt quietly slips her left hand inside Quinn's right and squeezes lightly. Soon, they are all holding hands, drawing comfort from each other, but there is still a devastating ache in Quinn's chest that shows no signs of lifting.

There is movement in the arena then—men come to remove the bodies of the dead, take away all the remaining weapons, and prepare for the closing ceremony—and it stokes the fire of Quinn's anger.

"Ladies and gentleman!" the orator's voice booms through the Colosseum, and Quinn closes her eyes, dropping Britt's hand as Mhonum's body is finally taken away. "After a courageous battle, the Gallic army stands broken and defeated before Sejanus, who shows them mercy by allowing them to live as slaves to the Roman empire."

The mob cheers in response, and Quinn's lip curls in disgust.

"Gladiators," he calls out once their cheers quiet down, "take your places before the emperor to receive your laurels."

Quinn rises to her feet and lifts her head up to stare at Sejanus, his expression almost impassive, and the mere sight of him causes all the pain of losing her family, her home, and now her closest friend to come crashing in. Her gaze is positively murderous as she walks with her friends to stand beneath the imperial box.

One of the emperor's lictors is on hand with several Roman guards. "Kneel before the emperor," he states, and as expected, Cato's men kneel.

But then, to Quinn's dismay, so do her friends. She looks at them in disbelief, her eyes still wet with tears. "How could you?" she whispers angrily.

"We took an oath, Quinn," Britt replies solemnly as the rest of them look at her somewhat regretfully.

"Slave!" the lictor shouts. "Bow to your emperor!"

"I will _never_ kneel for him," she argues, her voice laced with anger as she turns her furious gaze toward Sejanus once more. "You are _not_ my king."

There's an audible gasp in the crowd as Quinn turns her back on Sejanus and marches toward the gate leading out of the arena, her body still shaking with rage.

She doesn't make it far.

She's tackled to the ground by two guards twice her size. Pain lances through her shoulder at the impact, and that, coupled with their weight on top of her, makes fighting back impossible. They make quick work of shackling her arms behind her back, and two of them grip her upper arms and pull her to her feet—the motion sending another surge of agony through her, and she can't stop the whimper that escapes her lips.

Humiliation and helpless anger roils in her gut as she is led to her previous spot beneath the imperial box, but her gaze is still defiant. The guards release their hold on her, but there's no relief because suddenly, sharp pain shoots up the backs of her legs, causing her to fall to her knees. Strong hands grip the tops of her shoulders, holding her in place. Quinn hisses at the pressure on her still-tender joint as a rough hand tangles in her hair, forcing her head down.

"That's better," Sejanus says, and the sound of his voice sends an unpleasant ripple up her spine. "Gauls aren't exactly known for their intelligence," he adds condescendingly, earning an amused laugh from the crowd. "They can be a little slow on the uptake, so we have to be sure the lesson sticks." He pauses, and a feeling of dread begins to rise up in Quinn. "Instead of laurels, you've earned yourself twenty-five lashes of the whip, slave," he states, all amusement from his voice gone.

The crowd murmurs, seemingly pleased with the decision, and Quinn's stomach twists with anger and shame as she's once again grabbed by her upper arms and forcefully dragged across the sands on her knees. She turns her head and cuts her eyes toward the imperial box, and if looks could kill, Sejanus would drop dead instantly. But to Quinn's immense displeasure, he's still alive and well and once again wearing that damnable smirk.

She's suddenly jerked to the left and toward the small watchtower, making it so Sejanus is no longer in her line of sight, and it's then that Quinn realizes with sickening clarity what's about to happen.

Her punishment will be happening right here in the arena for thousands of Romans to see.

 _For Rachel to see_ , she realizes, feeling her shame grow at the very thought. She knows that Rachel loves her, but the idea of Rachel seeing her like this—it's almost too much for her pride.

The guards come to a halt in front of the watchtower's ladder. Her wrists are unshackled, and then her arms are quickly wrenched up overhead, sending another jolt of searing pain through her shoulder and momentarily distracting her from all thoughts of Rachel. Quinn grits her teeth as she's hauled to her feet and shackled to a rung two feet over her head. Her shoulder _almost_ slides back into the socket then, but her arms are too stretched out, and it's so painful, she can't stop herself from crying out.

Yet she knows the worst is still to come.

Quinn's tunic is then cut away from her body, exposing her back to the cool autumn air and causing her stomach to bottom out. Her senses are on high alert—her body still shaking from the pain and adrenaline and dread running through her—and the crowd's anticipation does nothing to set her at ease as she awaits the first crack of the whip against her back.

_Crack!_

"One!" the guard counts, and Quinn mashes her lips together to keep from crying out as her body jerks forward at the first sting of leather.

_Crack!_

"Two!"

A whimper escapes this time, and Quinn grits her teeth to try to stop any more that might threaten to slip out.

_Crack!_

"Three!"

Each lash of the whip seems to have more force behind it than the one before, and Quinn doesn't know if she'll be able to take twenty-five of these.

With every blow to her back, she feels herself grow more frayed. Her pride is steadily being beaten out of her, and Quinn needs _something_ to anchor her—to keep her from falling apart completely.

Without conscious thought, her eyes drift up toward the crowd and find those of her lover.

Rachel looks stricken—her eyes shine with unshed tears as she clutches at the pendant around her neck.

_Crack!_

"Ten!"

Quinn can't stop the involuntary tear that slips out as her back bows in agony.

"I'm sorry," Rachel mouths, and Quinn can only stare in confusion and then despair when Rachel suddenly flees from the box.

Quinn presses her forehead against one of the rungs and closes her eyes, feeling the burn of humiliation as the blows continue to rain down.

* * *

Quinn sits on a small cot in Bestia's room, wearing nothing but her loin cloth. Her left shoulder is swollen and painful, and her back is littered with welts and gashes, making it feel like her skin is on fire.

She doesn't know what hurts more right now—her body or her heart.

"I'm going to take care of fixing your shoulder first," Bestia tells her as she takes a hold of Quinn's left wrist and upper arm. "Then I'll do what I can for your back."

Quinn nods and grits her teeth as sweat forms on her skin from the pain of having her arm popped back into place.

"Okay?" Bestia asks, and Quinn barely keeps from breaking down at such a loaded question.

She is so far from okay right now.

The familiar sound of heavy boots approaching draws Quinn's attention, and she swallows thickly at the sight of an angry looking Silvanus entering the room.

"Slave," she greets her sharply.

Quinn recoils at the word. She's heard it a lot today, but it's been a long time since she's heard it from Silvanus.

"You embarrassed me today," Silvanus continues, her displeasure evident as she stares down her nose at Quinn. "You managed to actually win, but then you had to go and do something so incredibly _stupid_. You defied the emperor, and you're damn lucky you didn't get killed for your insolence." She pauses then, looking at Quinn almost incredulously. "You are a _slave_. And it's obvious that you need to be reminded of your place. So I am hereby revoking all of your privileges. That means no more visits from your Roman lover until you can learn to behave yourself."

The very thought of not seeing Rachel sends a jolt of desperation through Quinn, and she's so frayed at this point that she's not above begging. "No, please, Silvanus, let me see Rachel," she pleads, her voice cracking. "Please, I'll do anything."

"Shut up!" she snaps, and Quinn tries not to flinch as her anxiousness grows. "You have lost the right to ask for anything. You won't be seeing her again until I say so. In the meantime, enjoy your cell. You'll be spending a lot of time in there." She turns her attention to Bestia. "Lock her up as soon as you're done."

"Yes, Silvanus," Bestia replies, and the lanista nods curtly and throws Quinn one more scathing look before turning on her heels and leaving.

Quinn crumbles.

* * *

It's quiet in the barracks.

Quinn lays uncomfortably on her right side, staring into the darkness, trying to push down the pain in her heart and in her body to no avail.

She lets out a shuddering breath as a few tears escape, feeling utterly defeated. Her anger is long gone, replaced by a growing ache in her chest and shame in her gut. Today was an absolute nightmare in every sense, and she feels the loss of her home, her tribe, and her family acutely—all the memories of what she lost because of Sejanus play in her mind with painful clarity.

Her heart aches over the death of Mhonum, and her body shakes as she begins to sob—her tears soaking her mat.

She wishes so badly that she was with Rachel right now, because maybe then everything would stop hurting so damn much. Quinn craves the comfort only her lover can provide, and after everything that has happened today, she needs her more than ever.

But seeing Rachel isn't something she's allowed anymore, and Quinn thinks it's a worse punishment than the twenty-five lashes she received.

Guilt wracks her then. She still has her life—miserable as it is. Too many people she loves have lost theirs.

Quinn closes her eyes and gives herself over to her grief as she cries herself to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Rachel tosses and turns in her bed, unable to sleep.

Images of Quinn's whipped and beaten body haunt her, and her stomach twists at the memories of her lover being punished in the arena—Quinn's back arching in pain as she was lashed over and over and over again. Rachel had never felt so helpless before in her life.

She wanted to scream at Sejanus to make it stop.

But she didn't. Instead, she ran.

Her stomach twists again, this time with guilt, and a few tears escape from her eyes as she remembers Quinn's pained expression—the way those hazel eyes had shined with agony as she stared up at her.

Rachel had been dangerously close to crying at the very first lash of the whip striking Quinn, but the moment their eyes locked, Rachel lost her composure. But she couldn't be seen getting so upset over a slave's punishment, especially in public. So despite how much she knew Quinn needed her in that moment, Rachel let her cowardice get the better of her, and she fled.

Curtius had followed after her, but she had to get out of the Colosseum. Hidden away in the shadows of the corridor, she told him to tell her fathers that she was feeling sick and that she was going home. He had looked at her knowingly and somewhat pityingly, and it stoked enough of her anger to keep her tears at bay until she stepped outside.

The crowd had erupted behind her then—their cheers echoing through the forum—and Rachel could no longer keep it together. She ducked into an alley, curled in on herself, and cried.

She cried for Quinn—for all her lover has lost and all she continues to endure as a gladiator. A sense of helplessness overwhelmed her as she cried over her inability to protect Quinn from the emperor's punishment. She cried over her own cowardice—wishing she wasn't so afraid to reflect poorly on her fathers and wasn't so afraid of what people would say if they knew she had fallen in love with a slave.

Torn and ashamed, she hadn't known whether or not to go to Silvanus's. She hadn't known whether or not Quinn would even _want_ to see her after what happened today. But Rachel realized that she at least owed Quinn an apology, even if she didn't deserve Quinn's forgiveness. But mostly, she had to see Quinn with her own eyes and make sure she was okay.

And so, once her tears had dried, she made her way to the ludus and waited—her stomach churning with worry and regret as Quinn's punishment played over and over in her mind—only to find out that Quinn had been stripped of all her privileges.

Desperate, Rachel had tried to get Silvanus to make an exception—just this once. She _had_ to see Quinn. But the lanista had been steadfast in her refusal, only saying that she would send word once Quinn finished serving her punishment.

Rachel presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, feeling her guilt and desperation grow. What little time she has left with Quinn is slipping through her fingers, and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it. Worse though is the uncertainty of where she even stands with Quinn.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," she whispers into the darkness of her room. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

After managing a few restless hours of sleep, Rachel awakens to the sound of heavy rain falling outside. She finds it fitting of her mood.

Instantly, her mind goes to Quinn, and her guilt returns in full force. She _has_ to find a way to see her—to make things right—Silvanus's punishment be damned.

"Good morning, my lady," Elianne's soft voice washes over Rachel as she steps into her bedroom. "Are you feeling better today?"

"No," Rachel replies with a groan, rolling over in her bed to face her slave, who frowns sympathetically.

"Your papa would like to have lunch with you today, but if you're feeling unwell, he wants you to rest."

Rachel considers for a moment before deciding that staying cooped up in her room all day alone with her thoughts is probably not the best idea. "I'll have lunch with him," she says, pushing the covers off of her and slowly getting up, feeling her exhaustion deep in her bones.

Elianne helps her get ready for the day, and Rachel does her best to focus on the task at hand, but she can't stop her thoughts from constantly wandering to Quinn. As she walks along the peristyle to meet her papa in their smaller dining room, Rachel looks out into the garden and spots the gladiolus. Those flowers have always reminded her of Quinn, but never more than in this moment. Despite being pelted by rain, the flowers stand strong.

It's then that Rachel knows how she can see her lover. Her guilt doesn't waver, but her anxiousness over the situation gives way to determination.

"Good afternoon, Rachel," her papa greets her warmly as she steps into the dining room.

He is already reclined on his chaise, a cup of juice in hand, but she notices that the spread of food is untouched.

"Hi, Papa," she replies, offering him a tired smile as she settles down on the chaise across from him.

"How are you feeling today?" he asks. "Better, I hope."

Rachel nods. "A little," she replies, taking a few pieces of fruit for herself. She doesn't have much of an appetite, but she thinks she can manage that much.

"Good," he says with a smile before taking a piece of fish and some vegetables for himself. "I have to say, I'm even more impressed with how skilled Silvanus's gladiatrices are. Duvianus is planning on having a party for them sometime next week."

At this, Rachel perks up a bit before remembering that Quinn likely wouldn't be allowed to attend.

"So that's something to look forward to," he continues after taking a bite of his fish. "I know how much you enjoyed the party we had here for them."

Rachel blushes and takes a sip from her cup, trying to determine whether or not her papa is willfully oblivious to just why Rachel enjoyed that party so much or if he really has no idea. She suspects it's the former.

His lips curve up into a smile then, his eyes twinkling. "Although, I imagine there's something coming up that you're looking forward to even more."

She blinks in confusion, unsure of what he's talking about.

"Your father told me that you have another meeting with Sejanus in a few days," her papa explains.

Rachel's stomach sinks at the thought. She had almost completely forgotten about it, and to say that she's dreading her upcoming meeting with Sejanus is an understatement.

"Ah, yes, that," she replies, not meeting his eyes and gazing out the door toward the garden.

"He seems to be quite taken with you."

She hates how pleased her papa sounds about that fact. Despite all the wishing in the world that Sejanus would lose interest in her, he continues to seek out Rachel's company. If she ignores the fact that he has been responsible for ruining Quinn's life, she might be able to admit that he's actually quite charming and that they have a lot in common. And he has shown her nothing but kindness.

But with every meeting, it gets more and more exhausting not to let her true feelings show—the conflict inside her ever-growing. And after everything that happened yesterday in the arena? Rachel doesn't know how she's going to get through this.

* * *

Three days later, Rachel once again finds herself standing on the steps of the palace.

 _It's just three candlemarks, Rachel,_ she tells herself as she takes a fortifying breath. _You can do this._

As per usual, one of Sejanus's slaves is there to meet her in the vestibule and lead her to wherever Sejanus happens to be waiting for her. Today, it's the dining room.

He greets her with a warm smile and a brief hug—something that has become routine over the last month—before leading her over to the chaises. As always, there is nothing but the best for the emperor—the most delicious food and wine complete with musical accompaniment.

"How are you enjoying the Games so far?" Sejanus asks her after they get settled. He looks rather pleased with himself, and Rachel has to clamp down on her urge to tell him exactly what she thinks of them. But Sejanus's expression morphs into one of concern, and she knows her eyes have given her away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lies, plastering on the sweetest smile she can muster. "Your Games are impressive—much grander than the ones Andronicus hosted," she continues, doing her best to stroke his ego despite how uneasy it makes her. "I've never seen anything like it."

Seemingly satisfied with her response, his lips curve back up into a smile. "I'm glad you think so. I've taken great care in making this an event the people will never forget. Although, the reenactment of the Battle of Arverni didn't _quite_ turn out the way I planned. Silvanus's gladiatrices are much better than I thought they would be."

Rachel tears her gaze from Sejanus as he speaks, not trusting herself to hide her true emotions at this moment. Instead, she focuses on the fatted hen on her plate, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking with anger as she slices off a piece of meat.

"Unsurprisingly, that Gaul still hasn't learned her place," he laments with a mock sigh. "I really should have had her executed for her insolence, but, well, I know she's your favorite gladiator, so I decided to show her mercy."

Rachel presses her lips together as a strange mixture of anger and relief and unease swirls in her chest. That Sejanus had her lover lashed is the farthest thing from mercy in Rachel's mind, but the fact that the only reason Quinn is alive is because of her? It's… gods, Rachel doesn't know what to feel. It hits her just how dangerously close she was to losing Quinn forever that day, and it makes her feel sick all over again.

She chances a glance back up at the emperor, knowing she's expected to say something—expected to thank him, even though the very idea of it feels all wrong. "I appreciate that," she manages to say, doing her best to sound grateful (and she _is_ grateful that Quinn still has her life). "Thank you for considering me."

"But of course," Sejanus replies, his expression softening as he gazes at her. "I must confess something to you, Rachel," he continues after a moment, reaching over to take her hand. "I really enjoy the time I've gotten to spend with you since I've returned home. I've grown very fond of you."

Rachel swallows, unsure of what to say. "I… thank you," she finally says, trying not to pull her hand away. She knows she should probably say something along the lines of being fond of him too, but she can't bring herself to do it. "I'm still getting used to the idea that someone like you would even want to spend time with me."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks, squeezing her hand gently. "You are an amazing girl, Rachel. Although, sometimes it feels like you're holding back with me—perhaps you are intimidated by me—but I wish you wouldn't be."

"It's hard not to be," she says, and it's the gods' honest truth. She can't imagine what he would do if he knew everything going on inside her head, but she knows it wouldn't be anything good. "After all, you are the emperor."

"This is true," he agrees with a small quirk of his lips. "But I'd like for you be at ease with me."

"I'll try," she says, knowing full well that such a thing is close to impossible.

* * *

The smell of rain is in the air, and the temperature is starting to grow a bit cooler, so Rachel has opted to wear her cloak today. She has anxiously waited for this day since coming up with the idea one week ago, and as she knocks on the door to Silvanus's ludus, she only feels that anxiousness grow.

Balba lets her in and confirms that practice is, in fact, being held, and Rachel feels some of her anxiousness subside. She wasn't quite sure when Silvanus would resume training sessions, but she figured one week was enough time.

Rachel twirls the stem of the gladiolus nervously between her fingers as she walks through the atrium. She hopes Quinn will appreciate the sentiment. That is, assuming she'll even be receptive to her presence.

As Rachel steps onto the balcony, she can sense the somberness that hangs over the training ground, and the overcast sky doesn't do much to shake the mood. But Silvanus isn't present—at least not that Rachel can see—and it makes her feel more hopeful about her chances of actually talking to Quinn. Rachel leans over the balcony railing in hopes of catching sight of her lover, but she soon realizes that Quinn isn't there.

Disappointment and worry floods her, and Rachel lets out a long breath as she takes in the scene before her, trying to figure out what to do next.

The gladiatrices who are in the small arena—Britt, Saoirse, Makelesi, Harmonia, and Sukie—are only doing light work. The battle last week has clearly taken its toll on them physically, and Rachel suspects the only reason they're outside at all is to get some fresh air. She watches for a few moments as Makelesi and Saoirse spar with wooden swords while the other slaves look on.

Her arrival doesn't go unnoticed for long, however, and Britt raises her hand in greeting. Rachel waves back lamely, watching as Britt begins to make the short trip to the balcony—walking with a noticeable limp.

"Where's Quinn?" Rachel asks as soon as Britt arrives beneath the balcony, unable to hide her worry.

"She's sick," Britt replies with a small frown. "Some of the lashes from the whipping got infected. She has a really bad fever."

Rachel bites her lower lip and stares down at the flowers in her hands, feeling her worry grow. She wishes so much she could comfort and take care of her lover, and knowing that she's sick with a fever and alone in some cell right now makes Rachel's heart ache.

"Quinn's not mad at you, you know," Britt says then, causing Rachel to look at her once more. "She's mad at the emperor, and a little bit at us too for not standing with her after the battle. And she's really sad about Mhonum… we all are." Her voice cracks a little, and she pauses for a moment, collecting herself, and Rachel can't help but feel a little sympathetic. "But when it comes to you, Rachel, Quinn is just hurt and confused, and I know she misses you."

Rachel smiles sadly at Britt, but she can't help the small measure of relief she feels knowing that Quinn isn't angry with her. "Can you do something for me?" she asks. Britt nods, and Rachel leans down and holds out the flowers, which Britt reaches up to take. "Please give these to Quinn. Tell her I love her. Tell her I'm sorry, and that I'll explain everything as soon as I can see her."

"Okay," she agrees. Her lips quirk up a bit then as she gazes at Rachel in understanding.

"Come on, Britt, let's get going," Saoirse calls out from across the arena.

"I'll see you around, Rachel," Britt says before turning to walk out of the arena, once again limping as she goes.

"Rachel," a voice sounds behind her.

Rachel turns and meets the cold, blue eyes of her host. "Silvanus."

"I thought I told you that I would send word."

"You did," Rachel affirms, "but I thought I might take in the training sessions in the meantime."

"You thought wrong," Silvanus informs her bluntly. "Don't come back here until I say it's okay. After all, Quinn is _my_ slave, and she needs to learn her lesson. Seeing you isn't something she is allowed just yet."

She bites her lower lip and lets out a sigh of disappointment. "How long?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Rachel nods glumly. "Alright, I'll wait for your go ahead."

Silvanus offers her a curt nod before bidding her goodbye, and as Rachel steps back onto the street, she feels a rush of uncertainty. She trusts that Britt will deliver her message to Quinn, but not knowing how long she will have to wait until she can see Quinn again—especially when their time is so short as is—has Rachel in knots.

She glances up toward the sky and pulls her cloak tighter around herself before beginning the short walk home. She wonders if she'll ever feel settled again.

All too soon, she arrives back home, and suddenly, Rachel feels very tired. She just wants to sleep for a very long time, only waking when she and Quinn can be together again.

"Ah, here she is," her father says as she steps into the atrium.

Rachel looks over to see him wearing an excited smile, and she notices that her papa has a matching expression. "What's going on?" she asks as Elianne helps her to remove her cloak, watching warily as her fathers approach her.

"We have wonderful news," her papa explains, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her toward his office. "We know that you weren't too happy when your father and I first told you all those months ago that we were going to start looking for a husband for you." At those words, Rachel's tiredness suddenly gives way to uneasiness. "So we have taken great care to find someone who is the perfect match for you, and we believe we have found him."

Rachel feels her mouth go dry and her stomach drop. _No, no, no, this isn't happening. Not yet. Not now._

"He has asked us for your hand in marriage," her father says then, his smile never wavering as they step into her papa's office. "And we have accepted."

Standing in front of her papa's desk is Emperor Sejanus in all his glory, a jubilant smile lighting up his face as she comes into view, and Rachel feels like she's trapped in some horrible dream.

He steps forward then, gazing at her intently as he takes her left hand in his right. "I am beyond ecstatic that you will be my wife, Rachel."

The cold metal of his ring slides on her finger, and Rachel feels herself go numb.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the greatest beta in the world, poetzproblem. :)

Shivers wrack Quinn's body as she lays half naked on a small mat in Bestia's room, a fever raging through her, trying to drive out the infection that has taken hold of her. The skin of her back is raw and red, and three lashes on her back radiate heat and ooze pus. The sharp scent of acetum mixed with the smell of sickness fills the room, and it makes Quinn's stomach roil.

She's vaguely aware of someone walking around the room—Bestia, she assumes, but she's too exhausted to open her eyes to be sure. She's both chilled to the bone and unbearably warm, and the delirium of fever dreams makes it hard to know if she's awake or still asleep.

She mostly dreams of home, of her family, and of Mhonum, all of them engulfed in flames, and Quinn is always powerless to stop it. It's too hot, and her limbs won't move—it's as if she's chained and weighted down—and the feeling of being confined makes her anxiety spike. Their pained cries echo in her mind, and Quinn's own helplessness grows.

Sometimes she dreams of Rachel, but she is never able to really see her—always obscured in some way—and it fills Quinn with a sense of unease.

 _She loves you_ , a voice echoes from somewhere in her mind, and Quinn tries to hold on to those words.

A cool cloth is pressed to the back of Quinn's neck, and she shivers again.

"You need to drink some water," Bestia's voice sounds from somewhere above her.

Quinn cracks open her eyes in what feels like a Herculean effort, but the sight of Bestia's hand holding a bucket and ladle makes it worth it. It feels like something died in her mouth, and she's desperate to wash it away.

Pain and fire lance through her back as she pushes herself up on shaky arms—her left shoulder nearly giving out—and Quinn's head throbs a bit as she sits on the cot. She doesn't miss the look of sympathy Bestia sends her way as she presses the ladle to Quinn's lips.

Quinn cups it in her hands and greedily gulps down the cool water.

"Silvanus had me get you some silphium for your fever," Bestia says after a moment, pulling out a small vial of greenish-brown liquid from her pouch.

Quinn eyes it wearily. The idea of consuming anything but water right now isn't exactly appealing to her, and she doesn't entirely trust Roman medicine. "I'd rather not take it," she says, her voice thin and cracking from lack of use.

Bestia smiles sadly at her and holds it out for Quinn. "Sorry, kid. Silvanus wants you to take it, so you don't have a choice."

Quinn grimaces at the reminder of her place—at the reminder of how she never has a choice because her life isn't really hers anymore. "Of course, another lesson," she grumbles, reaching for the vial and taking it from Bestia.

"Don't think of it that way," Bestia says. "Silvanus may be punishing you, but she wants you in good health, Quinn. You're no good to her if you're dead." She pauses for a moment, her gaze softening. "And even though my allegiance is to Silvanus first and foremost, I do care about you, and I don't like seeing you suffer."

Despite her exhaustion and current misgivings about her owner, Quinn feels a measure of gratitude for Bestia. "Thanks," she murmurs with a tired smile.

Bestia's lips curve into a small smile of her own. "So drink up. Trust me, it helps, and it doesn't taste all that bad."

Quinn nods in agreement before downing the silphium, bracing herself for an awful taste, but she finds that Bestia is right. It's not bad at all. It reminds her a little of fennel.

But just that tiny bit of exertion leaves Quinn feeling sapped of her strength, and she's soon lying face down on the mat again, her eyes drifting shut.

The din of battle surrounds her, and Quinn hears Mhonum cry out.

She jerks herself awake, heart pounding wildly in her chest and unshed tears stinging her eyes.

Strong fingers press unwashed wool soaked in acetum to the welts on Quinn's back, causing her to groan as she clenches her jaw and turns to bury her face into the mat beneath her. It burns, but it's nothing compared to the discomfort swirling in her stomach—remnants of her latest dream clinging to her mind.

"Almost done, Quinn," Bestia promises as she draws the wool away from Quinn's back. "I just have to apply a fresh poultice. But the infection is starting to look a bit better. With any luck, you'll be back on your feet soon."

She hopes so. She's tired of feeling so weak, tired of being so sick, and tired of the toll recent events have taken on her. And while she knows she won't be completely free of the havoc this fever is placing on her mind and that there isn't much waiting for her except for an indefinite punishment by her owner when she gets back on her feet, Quinn tries to hold on to thoughts of her refuge—of Rachel. She needs to make it through this. She needs to see Rachel again.

* * *

The moment Quinn's fever breaks, she's unceremoniously ushered back to the barracks by Bestia.

It's okay, though, Quinn decides. There's relief at coming out on the other side of her illness. And she would be lying if she said she didn't miss her friends. She tries not to think too hard about the fact that her closest friend is no longer with them.

Everyone is in their cells, as it's almost time for sleep, but Quinn's return does not go unnoticed.

"Well, look who's back," Harmonia says when she catches sight of Quinn.

"Hey, girls," Quinn greets them with a tired smile, and they all offer her hellos of their own.

"Good to see you back among the living," Saoirse says with a small quirk of her lips, but her words immediately have a sobering effect on everyone, and Quinn's eyes instinctively shift toward Mhonum's now empty cell as her heart sinks into her stomach. "Gods, I'm sorry," Saoirse hurriedly apologizes, but Quinn barely hears it. The pain of losing Mhonum suddenly hits hard, and tears sting the corner of her eyes.

"Come on, Quinn," Bestia says, placing her hand on Quinn's shoulder and guiding her to her cell.

Quinn wipes at her eyes as the door closes, the lock clicking into place. Bestia offers her a sympathetic smile before saying goodnight to them all, and Quinn lets out a long breath as she watches her disappear from view.

"I really am sorry, Quinn," Saoirse says from inside her own cell.

"It's okay," Quinn replies quietly. "I know you didn't mean anything by it."

She lets out another breath and turns around, intending to settle down for the night, when her eyes catch sight of something she thought she had imagined.

"I didn't dream it," Quinn murmurs to herself, unable to stop the relief that floods her.

Laying on her mat, in the darkest corner of her cell, is a dried gladiolus. She kneels down and gently picks it up, recalling how the rough pads of Britt's fingers brushed against her forehead, coaxing her from her latest fever dream. She had opened her eyes to see soft, white petals as the flower was placed next to her head.

" _Rachel wanted me to give this to you,"_ Britt had said softly. _"She says she's sorry and that she'll explain things. Oh, also, and I think this is probably the most important thing. She says she loves you."_

Quinn hadn't known if it was real at the time, but she had held on to those words like a lifeline.

"I made sure to hide it so that Silvanus wouldn't see it and take it away," Britt says, drawing Quinn out of her memory.

"I thought I had imagined it," she replies, turning to face the other girl's cell.

"You didn't. Rachel came to see you. I don't think Silvanus was happy she was here though."

"I'll bet," Quinn says, feeling frustrated over not being able to see her lover. "Did you see her again? At the party?" she asks, thinking that it was probably a few nights ago that they went to Duvianus's.

Britt shakes her head. "She wasn't there. Senator Hirrus and General Leon were though. I think something was going on, but I couldn't figure out what."

"Something good or something bad?" she asks warily.

"Good, I think. They seemed happy. Said they had good news they would be sharing with everyone soon. Once the time was right."

"Good news about Rachel?" Quinn asks, her uncertainty growing.

Britt shrugs, and Quinn tries to make out the faces of the other girls, but she can really only see Britt and Sukie from her cell. But Sukie's expression is pensive.

"What is it, Sukie?" she asks.

"Duvianus was kind of tense," she explains, absentmindedly tugging on the strap of her sling. "He doesn't talk to me about things—not the way Rachel probably does with you—but he's been… distracted, I guess, since the emperor returned to Rome. But the other night, he seemed… I don't know, more tense. Not for the whole party, just when Hirrus and Leon said there would be good news."

Quinn feels herself relax a little at her explanation. "Sounds like it's just Roman politicians and their squabbling. Nothing that any of us need to concern ourselves with."

"Well, I worry," Sukie says, and, immediately, Quinn feels like a jerk. Of course Sukie would worry about her lover.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Quinn tries to assure her as she settles down on her mat to get some much needed sleep—still worn out from being sick for so long.

"You're probably right," Sukie replies.

The conversation lulls, and Quinn rests the gladiolus on her mat. Her thoughts once again drift to Rachel, and as she closes her eyes, she prays that tonight her dreams will be kinder to her.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Quinn falls into a routine that almost resembles her first days with Silvanus after taking her gladiator's oath.

Her left shoulder strengthens with every passing day, and even though the skin of her back is still tender and sometimes painful, the lashes are healing slowly but surely. Quinn knows they will leave scars, and she is bitter about having to bear a lasting reminder. She wishes she could forget everything about that day.

She's feels Mhonum's absence acutely—especially in quieter moments—and her resentment of the emperor is at an all-time high.

Her punishment isn't exactly helping her state of mind either.

When Quinn isn't training or eating, Silvanus keeps her locked in her cell. The confined space and the uncertainty of just how long her punishment is going to last is slowly driving Quinn to higher levels of anxiety. No matter how many times she tries to bring herself into a calm state by focusing on her breathing or remembering all the things that Rachel has said—all her words of love—Quinn can't seem to escape the sense of unease that pervades.

She longs to see Rachel again. The message relayed by Britt from her lover offers enough assurance to keep her from worrying that she's somehow lost her, but Quinn is still confused and a little hurt over seeing Rachel walk out during her whipping. She needs some kind of resolution, but mostly, she just needs to see and hold her lover.

Quinn realizes she has to do something to try to get Silvanus to reinstate her privileges sooner rather than later.

So, swallowing her pride, Quinn approaches Silvanus after a particularly long training session. "Silvanus?"

"What do you want, slave?"

"I wanted to know if there's anything you need my help with. Paperwork, cleaning, whatever you need."

Silvanus gazes at Quinn in mild amusement. Quinn is sure she knows exactly what her angle is, but she doesn't care. Anything to get out of her cell and in her owner's good graces is worth it at this point. "Actually, I do," she says after a beat. "I have some old files that need to be organized." Silvanus pauses and looks at her with scrutiny. "You can read, can't you?"

"I can," Quinn confirms with a nod.

"Good. Also, the armor that's on display in my office needs polishing."

"Consider it done."

Silvanus nods. "Alright. You'll start tomorrow then."

* * *

Quinn rubs at her eyes and blinks, trying to get acclimated to the change in light as the sun begins to set. She's currently holed up in Silvanus's office having just finished sorting and organizing her owner's records after steadily chipping away at it over the last several days. Silvanus is out at a friend's home for dinner and won't be back for awhile yet. Quinn could go back to her cell, but she'd rather make herself useful.

She turns her attention to the sword, shield, and helmet that are on display in the far corner of the office. They belonged to one of Silvanus's ancestors from 400 years earlier—some Spartan king supposedly.

After gathering the necessary supplies for polishing—chalk, acetum, wool, a sheet, a bowl, clean rags, and some water—Quinn sets about her task. She lays out the sheet on the floor and takes the helmet and sword from their stands and places them atop the sheet. She then goes to lift the shield, but as she does, she feels a twinge in her left shoulder. Grimacing, she quickly but carefully lays it down. She prays that the remnants of this injury won't stay with her much longer.

Quinn then works the chalk, acetum, and water into a runny paste inside the bowl before gathering it up with some wool and spreading it along the broad side of the helmet.

Considering their age, the armor is in surprisingly good condition, but they've grown dull, as bronze tends to do over time. But it's nothing that some old-fashioned elbow grease won't fix. As she works, she's reminded of when her uncle first showed her and Seanlaoch how to polish metal. It was the final step after they made their first metal pieces—simple bronze buckles to go on a leather saddle.

As Quinn works to polish the shield, making sure to clean the crevices of the engravings on the metal, she's reminded of how her cousin used to add more intricate details to his armor and weapons. Seanlaoch always did have more of a talent for metalwork than she did, she thinks with a small smile. She wonders what he would think of all this—of what he would say if he could see her right now.

He always tried his best to keep everyone in good spirits, and his enjoyment of simpler things helped ease the strain of the pressure she sometimes felt.

"It's not so bad," he'd say with a cheeky grin. "Turn that frown upside down." And despite herself, Quinn would smile, shove his shoulder lightly, and call him an idiot.

Her father, on the other hand, would no doubt be disappointed that she ended up here—a slave now willingly doing a Roman's bidding—and he would be downright furious that she was in love with a Roman. But Seanlaoch? Quinn thinks that when it comes to Rachel, he would be happy for her.

Gods, she misses him. Losing Mhonum seemed to make the ache of his loss even more pronounced.

Furrowing her brow, she tries to push out the unpleasant thoughts threatening to creep in, and instead focuses on her on current task—wiping down the shield with a water-soaked rag.

She's just finishing up—having put the now-shining armor back in its place and gathering up the remaining supplies—when Silvanus arrives back at the ludus.

Silvanus takes a look around her office before going over to inspect the armor. Quinn watches her carefully. "Did you finish organizing my papers and scrolls?" she asks.

"I did," Quinn replies. "And the polishing job, as you can see."

The lanista turns to look at Quinn then, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. "Planning for the next set of Games has begun," she says, gazing at Quinn intently. "Emperor Sejanus will be hosting them once more."

Quinn tenses at the mention of his name but says nothing.

"Tell me, slave," she continues. "What will you do when you are fighting for the emperor's entertainment while representing me in the Games?"

She clenches her jaw for a moment, biting back the angry retort that she so desperately wants to unleash. "I will win," she states confidently, trying to push down the unpleasant feeling over what she is about to say. "And after I win, I will kneel before the emperor. I won't embarrass you again, Silvanus."

Silvanus smiles fully then, clearly pleased with Quinn's answer. "Seems you're learning. I've decided I'm going to reinstate some of your privileges. You can have recreational time with the other slaves. And I'll allow you one candlemark a week to visit with Rachel. That is, assuming you still want to see her."

Quinn feels her irritation dissipate as excitement takes its place. "Of course I want to see her," she says, not caring if she sounds too eager.

"I'll send word to her tomorrow. I know she's anxious to see you, so I wouldn't be surprised if she showed up immediately after," she says with a slight shake of her head. "Now get back to the barracks and clean yourself up."

Quinn hesitates before leaving, but she decides a little more kissing up won't hurt. "Thank you, Silvanus," she says gratefully. She finds the words come much easier now that her spirits are higher.

After returning the supplies back to where she found them, Quinn makes a quick trip to the basin to wash her hands and face. Her body is practically buzzing with excitement, and she relishes it.

"You have to tell her," Quinn hears Saoirse say as she approaches the room where she and the other girls usually spend their time playing tali.

"I can't," Sukie replies. "What if I heard wrong? Or misunderstood something?"

"Sukie's right," Britt says.

"If you don't tell her, I will," Saoirse shoots back. "She needs to know."

Quinn's curiosity is definitely piqued as she steps into the room.

"Hey, Quinn," Harmonia says a little too loudly, causing everyone to flinch slightly.

"Hi," she replies, looking at them in bemusement. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing," Sukie says quickly, looking pointedly at Saoirse. "Nothing at all."

Saoirse narrows her eyes at Sukie and shakes her head.

"Don't mind them," Britt says, scooping up the knucklebones currently on the ground. "It's been awhile since you've played. Think you can still keep your winning streak going?"

Quinn smiles at the challenge and settles down on the ground beside her friends. "Let's do this."

After a few rounds, it's obvious that Quinn's luck playing tali has run out, but to her surprise, she doesn't really mind. She's just happy to finally be allowed to enjoy herself again.

"You're in a strangely good mood tonight," Saoirse says to Quinn after Makelesi beats them all for the second time in a row.

Quinn's smile widens. "Well, why wouldn't I be?" she says. "I'm actually allowed some free time outside of my cell. And," she adds, feeling her excitement grow, "Silvanus is letting me see Rachel again."

"Really?" Saoirse asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise, and Quinn doesn't miss the deliberate look her friend gets from Harmonia.

"That's great, Quinn," Britt says earnestly. "I remember Rachel saying she would explain everything to you," she continues, but she almost seems to be speaking to Saoirse. "I'm sure that will clear everything up."

Quinn's smile falters a bit as she picks up on the tension in the room. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Sukie says, not quite meeting Quinn's eye.

"Tell me," she commands, looking at each of her friends searchingly.

"It really is nothing, Quinn," Saoirse finally says. "Just some trivial thing Sukie overheard Duvianus's sister say when she was at his house this evening. Just, you know, politics."

She raises an eyebrow in response. "If it's so trivial, then why are you all acting so weird?"

"Because it had to do with something that will be happening at the Games," Sukie relents, and Quinn gets the sense that she's telling the truth. "But I don't know details."

"And this has what to do with Rachel?" Quinn asks, growing more perplexed.

"It doesn't," she insists. "It's really nothing. I promise."

Quinn doesn't entirely believe her, but she decides to let it go for now. If it's something she should know about and it's related to the Games or to Rachel, she's sure she'll find out eventually. Although, the thought isn't exactly comforting. "Fine," she says, her tone somewhat clipped as she takes the knucklebones from Makelesi. "I'm done going easy on you now." She tosses them onto the dirt floor and comes up with four sixes, feeling some of her own tension ease at the sight. "Vultures," she says with a victorious smile. "I win."

* * *

Thirty-six days. That's how long it's been since Quinn last saw Rachel.

It almost feels like a lifetime ago, but she's finally mere moments away from being with her again. Quinn feels the fluttering in her belly intensify with each step she takes, her feet bringing her closer to the room where Rachel is waiting for her.

Just knowing that she's here in the ludus—arriving the very same day Silvanus sent word—is enough to quell the nagging doubt in the corner of Quinn's mind that perhaps Rachel would have given up on her.

She pauses just outside the room's entrance, letting out a long breath and trying to collect herself. Quinn then draws back the curtain, revealing her lover standing at the center of the room. If it's possible, she looks even more beautiful than Quinn remembers.

Their eyes lock—Rachel's shining with love, relief, and regret—and Quinn feels her breath leave her. Without conscious thought, her feet carry her across the room, closing the remaining distance between them. "Rachel." The words come out as a reverent sigh as she cups Rachel's face with her palms. Leaning down, Quinn presses her lips to Rachel's in a slow, loving kiss that makes warmth bloom in her chest.

Rachel's hands find their way to Quinn's hips, gripping lightly as she returns Quinn's kiss with equal measure. Soon though, she senses the hint of desperation that so often accompanies Rachel's kisses, and Quinn lets herself momentarily fall deeper.

After long moments, their kiss breaks, and Quinn draws Rachel into her arms. She breathes Rachel in, taking comfort in the scent of cinnamon mixed with her skin. Gods, she's missed it. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Rachel replies, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so glad you're okay. I was afraid I'd never get a chance to see you again." Her voice catches in her throat. "Gods, I'm so sorry, Quinn," Rachel says, tightening her hold on Quinn. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," Quinn murmurs, holding on to Rachel just as tight, so grateful to have her in her arms again. "It's okay."

"No, it's not okay," Rachel argues, shaking her head against Quinn's neck before pulling back just enough to look Quinn in the eye. Rachel's eyes are filled with regret. "I'm a coward, Quinn."

"You're not."

Rachel's expression of guilt only seems to grow. "But I am," she insists. "Quinn, I…" She pauses, swallowing thickly as she stares at Quinn. Tears well up in Rachel's eyes and spill over, and Quinn quickly cups Rachel's cheeks to wipe them away with the pads of her thumbs. Rachel ducks her head, shame and anguish written all over her face.

Quinn feels her own heart break at the sight, and she presses her lips to Rachel's forehead. "What's wrong?"

Rachel lets out a shaky breath. "I don't… I don't know where to start. Everything is such a mess. And you… you're…" her voice trails off as she dissolves into tears, and all Quinn can do is hold Rachel as her lover buries her face into her tunic.

She runs her hands soothingly over Rachel's back as she continues to cry.

"I don't deserve you," Rachel says after long moments, her voice muffled a bit, but Quinn hears the words loud and clear.

She feels her chest tighten in response. "Are you…" Quinn pauses, unable to give voice to the question. "What are you saying?" she decides to ask instead.

Rachel looks up at Quinn again, looking more conflicted than ever. It's doing nothing to put Quinn at ease. "I never wanted to hurt you, Quinn."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not just talking about you leaving the Colosseum during my whipping?" Quinn asks, thinking Rachel's current emotional state is too extreme just for that.

Rachel presses her lips together for moment and closes her eyes, as if to stop herself from crying again.

"Rachel, just tell me what's going on," Quinn says softly but urgently, feeling her own anxiousness start to grow. "I don't understand what's going on."

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," Rachel finally says, pulling away from Quinn as she begins to pace a little—her right hand fidgeting with one of her fingers on her left hand.

Unbidden, Quinn's conversation with her friends last night flickers in her mind, causing an unpleasant feeling to rise up in her. She promptly tries to push it down. _It's nothing_ , she tells herself as she sits down on the chaise, not trusting herself to stand right now.

"You know how my fathers make a lot of decisions for me?" Rachel asks, pausing in her steps but still not really looking at Quinn.

Quinn nods. "Yeah, you've mentioned that before."

Rachel looks down, her brow furrowing. "Shortly before I met you, they told me that they were going to start looking for a husband for me," she confesses, causing a feeling of dread to settle in Quinn's stomach. "As much as I always hated the idea of an arranged marriage, as a patrician, I knew it would happen to me one day. It's just… I always wanted to fall in love." She finally looks up and stares at Quinn with tear-filled eyes. "And then I met you, and you were nothing like what I expected." Her lips curve up into a wistful smile. "I didn't plan to fall in love with you, but I did. And I don't regret it for a second. I know I've said this before, but I only wish we could be together."

"Me too," Quinn replies, her own eyes shining with unshed tears, torn between wanting to stop Rachel from continuing or willing her to get it over with.

"Our time together has always had an expiration date," Rachel continues sadly, "and I know I should have told you the truth sooner, but I didn't want to ruin things. And now, _everything_ is ruined." She bites her lower lip and averts her gaze once more, and Quinn feels like she's drowning.

"They've found a husband for you?" Quinn asks, her voice breaking along with her heart at the realization that she's most likely about to lose Rachel.

Rachel swallows thickly and presses her lips together as she nods. "Yes, but…" she trails off, her face twisting with guilt.

"But what?" Quinn asks, not daring to get her hopes up.

Hesitating, Rachel finally looks at Quinn once more, her eyes shining with so much sorrow and regret. "The man my fathers have chosen for me to marry is Emperor Sejanus."

Quinn stares at Rachel in shock. The unease swirling in her gut surges, causing bile to rise up in her throat, and Quinn swallows it down. _This isn't happening_. She pinches her arm, hard, but to her chagrin, everything stays exactly as it is.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks worriedly.

"Trying to wake myself up from this nightmare," she replies, her voice cracking as her eyes blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. She doesn't know whether to cry or to scream or to be sick. She thinks she might do all three as she feels herself start to lose it. Her breathing grows more and more labored, her chest tightens, and her mind races as she presses her head in her hands.

She's vaguely aware of Rachel kneeling in front of her, gently drawing Quinn's shaking hands away from her face. "Quinn," she coaxes, kissing her knuckles and rubbing her thumbs against the backs of Quinn's hands. "Breathe, okay? I'm right here with you."

Quinn tries to focus on her breath and on Rachel's soothing touch. It helps a little, but her body and mind are still overcome with despair. "Please tell me I'm dreaming," she pleads, staring at Rachel helplessly. "Please."

Rachel shakes her head sadly. "I wish I could. I'm so sorry, Quinn."

Quinn's eyes fall to the iron ring adorning the third finger of Rachel's left hand. She feels a surge of anger at the sight, and her jaw clenches. "He's taken everything I've ever cared about from me," she says in an angry whisper.

"He hasn't," Rachel argues, her voice soft yet filled with conviction. "You have something he will _never_ have. _You_ have my heart, Quinn, and you always will." She hesitates then, guilt returning to her gaze. "Even if you no longer want it."

At Rachel's words, Quinn feels some of her anger leave her. "Rachel…" she trails off, clasping her hands in Rachel's and gazing at her intently. "That will never happen, ever." Her eyes flit to the candle on the wall then, watching as melted wax drips down its side. "You said our time together has always had an expiration date. Is this it?" Quinn asks fearfully.

"No, not just yet," Rachel says before looking at Quinn nervously. "Unless you want it to be."

Quinn shakes her head, tightening her hold on Rachel's hands. "I would never want that. I… I need you, Rachel."

"And I need you," she replies, grazing Quinn's knuckles with her lips. "We still have some time. The wedding isn't for another four months. After that… I don't know what will happen or how I could see you without him finding out…" Rachel's look of distress returns, and Quinn feels her stomach churn unpleasantly at the thought of the impending wedding. "Gods, I wish we could run away."

"Where would we go?"

"I don't know. Judea or maybe Hibernia."

Quinn thinks she would go to the ends of the earth to be with Rachel, and right now, she feels like she has nothing left to lose. "Let's run away then."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a coward. I can't leave. My fathers… what would people think? This is why I don't deserve you," Rachel explains, looking nothing short of contrite. "When Sejanus had you whipped, I wanted to cry, but I was too afraid of people seeing me, so I fled."

"So you're ashamed of me?" Quinn asks, unable to stop from feeling wounded as her lips curve up into a bitter smile. "Although, I guess I can understand. What would all those stuffy and pretentious patricians say if they knew the daughter of one of Rome's most respected senators was in love with a female gladiator?"

"Quinn, it's not like that. You're not—"

"But it _is_ like that," she interrupts with a shake of her head. "Don't lie to spare my feelings, Rachel."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says apologetically.

Quinn lets out a frustrated breath. "I was a princess, you know," she says lowly. "I was—" she cuts herself off. It doesn't matter anymore what she used to be. Sejanus has seen to that. A fresh wave of anger courses through her at the thought. "I can't believe that out of all the people in all the world, I'm losing you to _him_."

"Quinn?"

"What?" she asks, looking at Rachel with red-rimmed eyes.

"I love you and _only_ you," Rachel insists. "And I always will."

"I love you too, Rachel. I do." Quinn's jaw clenches again as she lets out another breath. "But I hate him just as much. That's why this hurts so much."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says once again, her eyes filled with sorrow.

They stay like that for a long moment, just gazing at each other, and Quinn tries to steady herself.

"There's something else I need to tell you," Rachel says, breaking the silence.

Quinn didn't think it could possibly get any worse, but the look on Rachel's face has her stomach plummeting. "I'm not sure I want to hear it," she says reluctantly, "but go ahead."

"According to tradition, a newly betrothed couple must make an appearance together in public. Word of our engagement has already started to spread, but our first official appearance will be at the next Games."

"So that means I have to see him with you," she says thickly, unable to stop the tears from falling any longer. "I can't do this."

Rachel wraps Quinn up in her arms, and as she's enveloped by the warmth of her lover's touch and the scent of her perfume, Quinn can't stop herself from falling apart. She wonders what she did to make the gods punish her so.

"I don't like it any more than you do, Quinn," Rachel says mournfully. "I dread every moment I have to spend with him, and I hate how much he's hurt you… and how much _I'm_ hurting you." Her voice catches for a moment, and she tightens her hold on Quinn. "I love you so much, Quinn. And the fact that this is happening is killing me," she continues, her voice growing more desperate. "I don't want to lose you. I _need_ you, Quinn."

Quinn lets out a shuddering breath and clutches at the back of Rachel's stola, trying to draw comfort and strength from Rachel's words.

"Even though things seem hopeless, don't stop fighting. Don't give up." Rachel presses her lips to the top of Quinn's head, before resting her cheek there and holding Quinn closer. "Please hold on—for me."

Quinn closes her eyes and gathers what little resolve she has left. When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse from crying, but she feels strength in her conviction. "For you," she promises.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always many thanks to poetzproblem for being the world's greatest beta. :)
> 
> The song that Rachel sings is from a poem by Catallus.

Rachel stares down at the ring encasing her finger—the iron representing an unbreakable contract—and as the candlewax continues to drip, its symbolic meaning looms larger. There is no way out of marrying Sejanus. At least, nothing short of death.

She clenches her hand into a tight fist and closes her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that she could get out of this. She wishes she could run away with Quinn, but she knows how foolish it would be. Besides her own fear of leaving the comforts she's always known, there's a much starker reality to consider. If they were caught—something Rachel is certain would happen with Sejanus's resources coupled with her fathers'—at best Quinn's face would be branded, but the far more likely outcome would be death, and the mere thought has Rachel's stomach plummeting.

A tear escapes from her eyes as she presses her lips together. She has never felt so trapped in all her life, and she knows there's no escaping her fate.

Her fingers trace the pendant that rests over her heart as she thinks of her lover. Quinn has tried to stay strong for Rachel, but there's an undercurrent of despair—and not just about Rachel's betrothal. Quinn, too, seems to think there's no escaping her fate to one day die in the arena. But Rachel hasn't given up hope—it's one thing she will _never_ give up on—and that's finding a way to make sure that Quinn is set free.

"Rachel?" her father's voice echoes through the peristyle, and Rachel quickly wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself as she stares out at the garden. "There you are," he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he approaches her. She turns her head and offers him an embittered smile, and his own smile fades a bit, replaced by what she can only describe as a disheartened expression.

She doesn't bother to greet him with words, turning her attention back toward the gladiolus flowers that have taken on an almost blue hue in the pale light of dusk.

Her father comes to stand beside the bench Rachel is sitting on, turning his own gaze upon the garden. There's nothing but the sound of water flowing from the fountain to fill the somewhat uncomfortable silence between them. "You're upset," he finally says after a few moments. Rachel says nothing, and he sighs, finally taking a seat beside her. She can feel his imploring eyes on her, but she can't bring herself to look at him. "Please look at me."

Rachel furrows her brow and lets out a long breath before obeying her father's request and gazing upon him with despondent eyes.

He sighs again, but his eye-contact never wavers. "I don't understand."

"You don't understand what?" she asks, trying to keep her tone as indifferent, yet as pleasant, as possible.

"You're still so unhappy," he explains with a frown. "Your papa and I found you a husband who is the perfect match for you in every way. Someone you could love—and someone who certainly loves you."

"But I _don't_ love him, Father," she replies, unable to keep her emotion in check any longer. "And I won't ever love him," she continues with a shake of her head, her voice growing more impassioned. "I didn't choose him. _You_ chose him. He chose me. What I want still doesn't matter."

He grows visibly frustrated by her response. "Rachel, you know that this is how things are," he argues. "We could have chosen Senator Herenus as your husband, but we didn't. You should be grateful to be marrying a man of Sejanus's stature."

"But why would you marry me off to a senator who is already squarely in your camp when you could marry me off to the emperor and solidify your political alliance?" The words are out before she can even think twice about it.

Her father's eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches, and Rachel knows she just crossed a line. "You shouldn't listen to everything Curtius says," he says coolly.

"I don't," she replies. While it's true that Curtius thinks that's the truth, Rachel knows it's something others are thinking as well. And even though she's not well-versed in politics, she's not stupid. "But marriages always benefit the parents in some way. Ultimately, _my_ feelings about it don't matter," she explains before looking away from him and back toward the garden. "Otherwise, I would be free to choose who I want."

"I hope you aren't this forward with the emperor," her father says in a warning tone.

"Of course not."

"Good," he replies curtly, but there is a hint of relief there.

Silence falls over them for a moment as her father seems to gather himself. Rachel turns away from him and faces the garden, too upset with both him and her papa, and just wanting to be alone right now. Her father seems to get the hint and lets out another sigh as he rises to his feet once more. When he finally speaks, his tone is gentler. "Despite what you think, your papa and I _do_ have your interests in mind. I hope you realize soon how lucky you are."

Rachel barely holds in the bitter laugh that threatens to escape. Lucky is the farthest thing from what she is right now.

* * *

"Your birthday is coming up soon," Sejanus says as he walks with Rachel through the palace garden, his hand encasing her smaller one.

Rachel can't help but compare it to how it feels when Quinn does this. Quinn's hand is a perfect fit, and Sejanus's touch makes Rachel's stomach churn with guilt, making her want to rip her hand away. But she doesn't dare do so.

"I already have a few things in mind, but I wanted to ask you if there is anything in particular you'd like," he continues, slowing his steps, causing Rachel to follow suit, and forcing her to pay attention to what he's saying. He gazes at her then, eyes full of affection. "Anything your heart desires, and I'll make it so."

 _Anything my heart desires_ , she repeats silently as she considers his words. She has to force her lips not to curve up into a deprecating smile, as asking Sejanus for what she _truly_ wants would only result in disaster.

"Anything?" she asks, searching his eyes for a moment.

He smiles then and nods. "I promise."

She takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, gathering her resolve. "I want you to free Quinn."

His smile disappears almost immediately, his face twisting into a scowl as he drops her hand. "I told you never to ask me that again."

Rachel swallows thickly, trying to keep her nerves from showing. "I know you did, but you just said I could ask for anything, and this is what I want."

Sejanus eyes her suspiciously then. " _This_ is what you want—an enemy's freedom?" He gazes at her searchingly for a moment, and it takes all her strength not to look away. She prays her eyes give nothing away. "What is she to you?"

"Nothing," she replies a little too quickly, and the denial sends a small stab through her heart. "She's nothing to me."

"You're lying," he accuses, his eyes narrowing, and Rachel feels a spike of nervousness. "If she was nothing, you wouldn't have asked me more than once for this slave's freedom. You wouldn't be trying to waste a gift from me on an enemy of Rome. So I ask you again, Rachel—what is the Gaul to you? And don't even think about lying to me."

There's a threat there, she knows, and it sends an unpleasant shiver down her spine. She feels utterly trapped, and fear grips her. One wrong word, and she might end up putting Quinn in even more danger instead of saving her. Rachel silently berates herself for her naiveté at thinking Sejanus would simply comply with her request despite his warning months ago never to ask for Quinn's freedom again.

"She's a friend," Rachel finally relents, opting to tell a milder version of the truth. Admitting that Quinn is her lover to the emperor—Rachel doesn't even want to think of what might happen.

"A friend?" Sejanus asks incredulously.

Rachel nods, twisting her hands together nervously.

"Rachel, she is a prisoner of war—an enemy of Rome—a _slave_ ," he practically hisses. "And you consider such filth to be a _friend_?"

Her nervousness gives way to anger then, and it takes everything in her not to smack him. She needs to placate him while allaying his suspicions, and showing her true emotions won't help her in that cause. "Perhaps friend is too strong a word," she lies, hating the way those words feels on her tongue. "Fan is probably more accurate. As I've told you before, she's my favorite gladiator. And as much as I have enjoyed watching her fight in the arena since coming to Rome, I don't want to see her one day die there."

"This discussion is over," Sejanus says with a shake of his head. "I don't care if she's a 'friend' or your favorite gladiator, but one thing is certain—that Gaul is going to die in the arena, and you need to accept that."

 _I can't_ , she wants to scream, but instead she looks away and presses her lips together, trying to contain herself.

A feeling of dread settles in her stomach over her failure once again to get Quinn her freedom, and the emperor's lingering suspicious gaze makes her wonder if she didn't just make an enormous mistake.

* * *

The air is heavy with the smell of rain, and Rachel buries her face in Quinn's neck, breathing her in before brushing her lips across the smooth column of her lover's throat. She feels strong fingers press into her back as Quinn holds her close. They're tangled up together atop the chaise in Silvanus's guest room, as they've been so many times before, but it feels decidedly different this time.

It's the evening before Quinn's next fight in the arena, and there's a somberness that weighs down on them—the reality of what's to happen at the impending Games impossible to ignore any longer.

"I hate that the next time I'll see you, you're going to be at his side," Quinn confesses quietly, her voice tinged with sorrow.

Rachel lets out a mournful sigh and hugs Quinn tighter. "Me too. I'm so sorry, Quinn."

"It's not your fault," Quinn assures her, drawing her head back so she can press her forehead to Rachel's. Their gazes lock—Quinn's eyes shining with love and heartache—and Rachel wishes she could drown in them. "I only wish the gods were on our side."

Her lips are captured in a soft kiss then, and Rachel surrenders, wanting to lose herself completely in Quinn. She parts her mouth, allowing Quinn to deepen their kiss, and when Quinn's tongue brushes against her own, Rachel can practically taste her lover's sadness. Rachel's heart pangs in response, and she hates that she's in any way made Quinn feel this way. So she threads her fingers through blonde hair and kisses Quinn back, pouring all the love and comfort she can into it.

Quinn sighs into her mouth as her hands trail down Rachel's back, twisting into the loose material of her stola. Rachel shifts atop Quinn's lap, allowing her lover to hike the garment up, revealing tanned skin to the cool night air. The fabric rustles against her chest, and reluctantly, Rachel breaks their kiss and relinquishes her hold on Quinn, but only so she can be disrobed completely.

As soon as her stola is removed, their eyes lock once more, breaths mingling as their noses brush together. Rachel cups Quinn's cheeks, wishing so badly to rid the pain from her lover's eyes. "Just remember that no matter what, my heart is yours," Rachel says, softly but determinedly, her gaze never wavering. Even though she's said words like this to Quinn before, more than ever she needs her lover to believe it and hopefully draw strength from it. "I love you, Quinn. I love you more than anything in the world."

She caps off her declaration with a bruising kiss, and she feels Quinn shudder beneath her. Warm hands settle on her hips, and Rachel surges forward, pressing herself against Quinn as she deepens their kiss, needing to be closer to her.

"Make love to me, Quinn," she breathes against Quinn's lips. "Make me forget everything else. Make it so you're the only thing I can think of. I need to feel you."

"Gods," Quinn murmurs before capturing Rachel's mouth with hers, hands tightening against her skin. "I love you, Rachel," she manages between heated kisses, urging Rachel to rock her hips. "I love you so much." Her right hand trails down between Rachel's legs, and slender fingers slide through her folds, causing Rachel to whimper against Quinn's mouth.

Her lover swallows it in another kiss as two fingers slip inside her. Rachel's eyes close, and her hips sink down as a wave of pleasure surges through her. Once again, her hands tangle themselves in blonde hair as she rocks herself against every thrust of Quinn's fingers.

It's all consuming. Rachel is hyperaware of every touch and kiss and breath they share—the way Quinn's fingers drive into her, pushing her further and further toward the pinnacle of pleasure—desperate to hold on to this moment for as long as possible.

Unbidden, tears form in her eyes as her tongue swipes against Quinn's. Her heart feels like it's going to burst—there's not enough room in her chest to hold everything in. So she gives herself over to her lover completely, trusting that Quinn can hold her together when she falls apart.

Blunt nails drag down Quinn's neck and to her shoulder blades, Rachel gripping on to the sweat-soaked skin beneath her fingers as she feels herself pushed closer to the edge. Quinn hisses a little, causing their kiss to break, but her movements never slow, and Rachel lets out a small sob against Quinn's lips.

"I love you," Rachel manages to get out before burying her face into Quinn's neck, her entire body tingling with pleasure as she pants raggedly against her lover's throat.

"I love you too," Quinn breathes against Rachel's ear, wrapping her left arm tighter around Rachel's back while fingers continue their swift, steady pace, and Rachel feels herself fall.

Her hips stutter and jerk as white-hot pleasure surges up from her core and to the tips of her fingers and toes. Tears track down her cheeks as she trembles and shakes with pleasure and from all the love and emotion running through her, sinking into Quinn's warm and comforting embrace as she slowly comes back to herself.

They stay together like that for long moments, holding each other and breathing one another in. Rachel traces her fingers over the healing whip scars on her lover's back before turning her head and pressing tender kisses to her left shoulder. Quinn shudders beneath her and tightens her arms around Rachel, pulling her flush against Quinn's body, and she sinks further into their embrace. Nothing feels as right as being in Quinn's arms, and she wishes they could stay like this forever.

"Will you sing for me?" Quinn asks, her mouth brushing against the corner of Rachel's jaw, and Rachel doesn't miss the note of quiet desperation in her voice. "Please."

Rachel nods and closes her eyes, unable to deny Quinn anything. "No woman can say she's been loved so much, as I have been loved by you," she sings softly, hoping Quinn knows how absolutely true her words are. "No faith in any tie was ever so great, as has been found in love of you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta, poetzproblem. :)
> 
> Also, since it's been awhile since he was last mentioned and some of you may not remember, Flavian is Finn.

There's excitement in the air.

It's different from the excitement Quinn's used to sensing before one of her fights. And while there is definitely an eagerness in the mob to see today's final match, it's tinged with something else. Something that makes Quinn's stomach churn.

Despite her best attempts to block everything out, she keeps catching snippets of conversation from the patricians close to the cage she's currently being held in just outside the Colosseum walls. The people can't wait to see the emperor side-by-side with his soon-to-be-wife—their first appearance together in public making their betrothal even more official—and they are thrilled to be among the citizens privileged enough to bear witness to it.

It's a sentiment Quinn's heard countless times today. She wants to scream out and tell them all that Rachel is hers, but instead she swallows it down and tries to focus on the match ahead. Considering the reputation of her opponent today, it's all she _should_ be doing.

She locks her gaze on the tall, young man being held in the cage opposite her own. He hasn't once bothered to spare a glance her way since his arrival less than a candlemark ago. But then, considering the throng of admirers surrounding him, she's not surprised. From what Quinn has gathered, Flavian of Rome is something of a hero in the eyes of the people—a citizen who chose to become a gladiator, and in five years of fighting, he's never once lost. Apparently, it's been awhile since he's fought in Rome, and his return has his fans abuzz.

She has her own fans too, as evidenced by the small gathering around her cage. But Quinn doesn't pay them any mind, because there's only one fan that she wants to see right now, and that's an impossibility. An uneasy pressure settles around her heart, and she's unable to stop herself from thinking about _why_ that is.

Quinn stalks to the back of her cage then and begins to pace, feeling like she's going to crawl out of her skin. She hates how trapped she is and how utterly helpless she is to do anything about it.

Not for the first time, she wishes she wasn't here alone. Even though she knows there isn't anything any of her fellow gladiatrices could say that would make her feel better, she could use their support—and the distraction they are so often good at providing. But today, it's just her, and being stuck inside her own head with nothing but her thoughts and emotions to torment her is proving to be too much.

Memories of the last time she was in the arena still haunt her—reliving the pain of the fall of her tribe, witnessing the death of one of her closet friends, and suffering a humiliating punishment at the hands of the emperor—and the thought of having to once again step foot on those same sands has her stomach in knots. That coupled with knowing that she will have to see her lover—her refuge—at Sejanus's side is more than she can bear.

 _Some warrior I am_ , she thinks with a frown as she continues to pace, ignoring the curious and awed eyes of onlookers. She's been trying to stay strong, because that's what she promised Rachel, but she honestly doesn't know if she can do this.

A sharp clanging against the bars causes Quinn to flinch slightly, and her eyes instinctively shift to find its source as her feet still, immediately on the defensive. On the other side of the cage stands Bestia, wearing a sympathetic smile and holding the shackles that had been affixed to Quinn's wrists during her march through the forum that morning.

"Time to go inside and get you ready for your match, Quinn," she says, sending a fresh wave of anxiety through her.

She's not ready to do this. But then, she doesn't think she ever will be.

* * *

The familiar sound of a horn blaring through the Colosseum sounds out, and Quinn instinctively tightens her grip on her sword as she continues to shift her weight from side to side, unable to shake the ever-present feeling of dread of what awaits her beyond these gates—and it has nothing to do with her opponent.

The gates begin to lift, and the crowd quiets down to a soft hum. Quinn is sure to keep her eyes locked straight ahead, not wanting to see into the emperor's box, but the mere thought of what's there is enough to torment her.

"Ladies and gentleman!" the orator begins. "After two years of touring the provinces, one of Rome's most beloved gladiators finally returns home for what will be his final match," he announces, causing an excited set of cheers to break out among the mob. Quinn scowls, knowing that the orator's words have nothing to do with predicting the outcome of the fight. Flavian is favored to win, and afterward, he is to return to his life as a free citizen. "Emperor Sejanus is proud to present to you the twenty-time champion, Flavian of Rome!"

The crowd erupts in cheers, and Quinn watches as Flavian—now wearing a plumed helmet and wielding a large shield and gladius—walks through the opposite gate like a conquering hero, his lips curved up into a half smile as he basks in the love being showered upon him.

"And facing him is one of the Games' newest stars," the orator continues once the crowd settles down enough. "Defeated and captured in the Gallic Wars by Emperor Sejanus himself, the warrior princess of Arverni, Quinn!"

Another round of cheers rains down, and Quinn lets out a long breath before reluctantly stepping out onto the sands. Her body shakes slightly from the heightened emotion running through her, and her stomach twists as she catches sight of the emperor's box out of the corner of her eye.

 _Don't look, don't look_ , she tells herself, clenching her jaw and slamming her eyes shut as she comes to a halt. As much as she's drawn strength from Rachel in the past, seeing her with Sejanus is going to kill her, and just that small glimpse of them together hurt beyond measure.

All of her energy needs to go into her fight against Flavian, otherwise, she won't be able to keep her promise to Rachel. She isn't going to give up. She's never going to stop fighting. Quinn tries to remember and hold on to the words that her lover spoke to her last night. _"My heart is yours. I love you, Quinn. I love you more than anything in the world."_

She opens her eyes and stares straight ahead, only to find Flavian looking right back at her, and Quinn thinks he almost looks a little confused.

Her lips curl into a sneer. "What?" she bites out.

"You're prettier than I thought you'd be."

Quinn looks at him incredulously, and the ridiculousness of his statement almost has her forgetting the reality of her current situation. "And you're stupider than I thought you'd be."

"Hey," he objects, his brow furrowing.

Something about his entire demeanor makes Quinn snap. All of the adrenaline, anger, and anxiety swirling in her gut surges up her spine and grips her heart, sparking something almost vicious as Flavian becomes the sole target of her rage and despair. She narrows her eyes and drops into her fighting stance, eager to get this fight started.

Flavian's expression morphs into a scowl as he lowers himself into his own stance, but the second he does, Quinn charges at him with a ferocious yell.

She lifts her right arm up with the intention of slicing into his chest, but her sword is met with the face of Flavian's shield, sending a loud crack through the arena and a swell of energy through the crowd. Quinn feeds off it and bares her teeth as she follows up with a quick underhanded flick of her wrist, hoping to catch his left leg.

He barely manages to sidestep her blade and shoots her a look of surprise before following with his own counterattack—his gladius coming in hard and fast with a series of strikes. Quinn blocks them all with her shield, but the sheer force behind his attacks reverberates up her arm, causing discomfort in her still-healing shoulder and slowly forcing her backward.

She attempts to counter with her own thrusts—aiming for Flavian's legs in an effort to literally cut him down—but each and every one is easily deflected and met with yet another strike of her opponent's blade. Frustrated, Quinn clenches her jaw and looks for a way to get the upper hand as the blows from his sword continue to clash against her shield. Flavian is the biggest and strongest opponent she's ever faced, but he lacks grace and speed. Granted, right now she's having trouble taking advantage of that fact, and it only makes her more irritated.

They continue to trade blows, with neither of them landing a hit on anything except bronze, but Flavian's sheer strength steadily pushes Quinn back and closer to the eastern wall of the arena. The mob's raucous cheers seem to grow louder, and it resounds in her veins along with the adrenaline running through her.

Flavian furrows his brow in concentration then as he abruptly draws his shield back. Quinn feels a spark of anticipation, sensing that this will be her chance to turn the tide in her favor. She thrusts her gladius forward, only to have it blocked by Flavian's own blade.

Suddenly, pain explodes in her ribs—the sharp edge of Flavian's shield smashing into her right side—and Quinn crashes to the ground, landing roughly on her left shoulder. Flavian is on her then—his face contorted into a menacing glower as he lifts his sword overhead. Grimacing and pushing through the pain lancing through her side, Quinn rolls on to her back and just manages to block his blade with her shield.

Without hesitation, she fires her right leg up in a strong kick, hitting Flavian square between the legs. He staggers backward and doubles over, clutching himself as the crowd starts to howl, banging their hands against the walls of the Colosseum and causing the volume inside the arena to mount.

Clenching her teeth and pushing through the pain of her now-broken ribs, Quinn takes the brief reprieve to gather herself as she slowly draws herself back to her feet. Her eyes cut to her opponent, still bent over in agony, and she feels a small measure of satisfaction at his obvious discomfort. But she still owes him for breaking her ribs.

She decides to take a gamble then, dropping her shield and transferring her gladius to her left hand in an attempt to alleviate the pain in her ribs. Even though her left shoulder is still not quite right, she thinks she'll have a better chance this way.

The mob seems to like it too—if only for the added wrinkle.

"That was a cheap shot," Flavian wheezes with a scowl as he slowly begins to straighten himself, tightening his grip on his weapon.

"All's fair in love and war," Quinn retorts, trying her best to ignore the sudden stab in her heart as she launches another offensive.

A fresh wave of anger surges up in her as she comes after Flavian with a rapid succession of strikes from her blade. Flavian moves to meet every blow, alternating between using his sword and shield to deflect Quinn's attacks—the crack of their weapons and armor crashing together and echoing through the arena, thrilling the mob. Quinn's emotion fuels her, but she can't get as much power behind her attacks as she normally does.

Grasping her weapon with both hands then, she raises her arms overhead and slams into Flavian with all the power she can muster.

Her sword smashes against his shield, sending a ricochet of pain through her side, but she forces it down and follows through with another quick strike—this time too fast for Flavian. Her blade slices into his left thigh, and he hisses in pain before attempting to slash down at Quinn's neck with his sword.

She ducks, narrowly missing the swipe of his blade, before lashing her own weapon up and clipping his chin.

Flavian yelps in pain and teeters back as blood begins to drip from his wounds. Brown eyes narrow at her as he grits his teeth and wipes at his chin with the back of his right hand.

"You'll pay for that," he threatens.

"I'd like to see you try," she retorts.

Glowering, Flavian lets out a deafening war cry and charges Quinn one more time. She doesn't wait for him to get to her, and a sharp yell of her own sounds out as she runs toward him, sword at the ready.

Their blades meet in a loud clash, before Quinn quickly follows through with a deft move to Flavian's right, letting her left arm fly and slicing across his back—her gladius cutting through his tunic and deeply into his flesh.

Flavian's face twists as a pained shout escapes his lips, and he turns to face Quinn, swinging blindly at her. She raises her sword up, matching each and every one of his attacks with her blade—her breath catching each and every time the kickback wracks sharply through her ribs.

But Flavian, seemingly growing more and more stymied by his inability to land a hit, raises his shield once more and suddenly rushes Quinn. Reacting on instinct, Quinn sidesteps the incoming blow—but the edge of his shield still manages to catch her right cheek, sending a jolt of pain through her face.

Quinn hisses and grits her teeth before planting her feet and, using all the force she can muster, cuts her gladius down across her body and into the back of Flavian's right leg—severing the ligaments holding the joint together.

His knees hit the ground as he cries out in agony, and Quinn wastes no time, shifting her stance and swinging her left arm back before letting it loose—her blade cutting cleanly across Flavian's neck. Shocked eyes lock on her own as rivulets of deep crimson pool from the gashes in his throat. Short moments later, his eyes roll back as his body slumps forward to the ground—his blood seeping into the sands beneath him as the crowd erupts.

While the mob howls in a mixture of frustration and delight, the rage coursing through Quinn's veins steadily leaves her as she watches the blood flow from Flavian's lifeless body. In anger's wake there is only anguish, because this—this "victory"—has changed nothing.

The orator shouts something then, but Quinn can scarcely hear it over the noise of the crowd and the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. Still, she knows what's expected of her—what comes next—and she's not at all ready for it. But running away is not an option, and even if it was, she refuses to succumb to cowardice. Even so, all the bravery in the world couldn't possibly prepare her for this.

Heart sinking into her stomach, Quinn shifts her feet and turns her gaze up toward the emperor's box.

Watery brown eyes meet hers, and it's all Quinn can focus on at first. Then it's slim fingers playing with bronze metal against her chest, and Quinn's heart starts to crack when she sees that this is hurting Rachel just as much as it is her.

"Emperor Sejanus presents you with your champion—Quinn of Arverni!" the orator declares.

A renewed chant begins to reverberate through the arena, sending a surreal chill through Quinn as she finally looks Emperor Sejanus in the eye. His dark eyes are narrowed in veiled calculation, and Quinn unconsciously tightens her hold on her sword as helpless anger swells up in the midst of her heartache.

Quinn catches sight of one of the emperor's lictors approaching her with a laurel crown, and she swallows thickly. The temptation to defy the emperor is strong, but the memory of what happened last time—the pain, the humiliation—is too fresh. So she stays put, and fixes her gaze on her lover, feeling her chest begin to cave in on itself.

Never before has a victory felt so hollow.

As her knees touch the sand and the crowd roars around her, all Quinn can see is Rachel and her betrothed, and the visual confirmation that she is going to lose the most important thing in her life to the man who has taken so much from her already… it's more than Quinn can bear. Her heart is splintering, and she has no idea how to piece it back together.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my beta reader, poetzproblem. :)
> 
> There's a new character introduced in this chapter, Bromidus. His Glee counterpart is Brody.

The celebratory chant of Quinn's name echoes through the arena—the jubilation of the cheering crowd creating a stark contrast to the unease swirling in Rachel's stomach and the ache in her chest. Her fingers tighten around the pendant resting at her heart as she stares down on to the sands from the emperor's box, watching her lover disappear inside the eastern gate and back into the underbelly of the Colosseum, and feeling her own helplessness grow. Quinn had looked utterly heartbroken, and Rachel hates that she's somehow inadvertently caused it.

A warm hand encases her own then, and Rachel tenses momentarily before closing her eyes and trying to relax. But she finds it to be an impossible feat at this moment, as her mind is unable to focus on anything but Quinn and her own heartache.

"Are you alright?" Sejanus asks as he leans in, his voice cutting through the din of the mob and sending an involuntary wave of nervousness through Rachel.

Knowing that the emperor's attention is now on her, Rachel reluctantly releases her hold on the pendant and steels herself against the war raging inside her. "I'm fine," she replies a little unevenly as she opens her eyes and turns to look at him, praying her eyes don't betray her.

His gaze is searching, and his lips curve down almost imperceptibly.

Rachel swallows thickly and averts her gaze, mind racing. "Actually," she says after another uneasy moment, "I'm not feeling well." It's not a lie, although she wouldn't dare tell him what is really ailing her.

"I'm sure you'll feel better after you have something to eat," Sejanus says, gently squeezing Rachel's hand, but there's something about his tone that belies his touch.

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," she replies, and again, it's not a lie. Not with the way her stomach is twisted in knots, and the thought of having to spend the rest of the evening in Sejanus's company is doing nothing to ease her mind. "I think I need to sleep it off."

Sejanus pauses as if to consider her words. "Very well," he agrees, and Rachel chances a glance up—his expression inscrutable. "I'll have Bromidus escort you home," he adds, nodding slightly toward the lictor standing to Rachel's right.

"That's not necessary," she refutes, as she has no intention of actually going home. This afternoon has been nothing short of emotional torture, and right now, all Rachel wants is to be with the one person who can make it all better—at least, for a little while.

"On the contrary, Rachel," he insists. "I would be remiss not to make sure you got home safely. After all, you are to be the wife of the emperor."

"Of course," she relents, feeling her heart sink at the reminder of her reality.

Sejanus gives her hand another squeeze and smiles at her, although it doesn't reach his eyes. His attention shifts away from her then as the orator begins the closing announcements for the day's Games. Rachel swallows again and gazes out into the arena, wishing she could escape her fate and be with the one who holds her heart.

* * *

Darkness has settled over Rome once Rachel is finally able to slip away through the side door of her home and out into the streets—her feet travelling a well-worn path to Silvanus's ludus.

She would have left sooner if not for Elianne hovering in concern—Bromidus having dutifully escorted her home and informing the household that Rachel had been feeling unwell. But after convincing her slave that she would be fine and just needed to turn in early, Elianne finally let her be. Of course, Rachel had been sure to prop her pillows and blankets atop her mattress to make it look like she was safely tucked into bed in case someone poked their head into her room.

Thankfully, her fathers hadn't yet returned home from the Colosseum. As far as they're concerned, Rachel is currently enjoying dinner and a night of entertainment at the palace with her betrothed, not sneaking off to see her lover, who just so happens to be a female gladiator.

The wind starts to pick up a bit, and Rachel pulls her cloak tighter around herself as she gets closer to the ludus. She tries not to think about the fact that sneaking off like this will be near impossible once she's actually married to Sejanus and living with him, but she doesn't want to imagine her life without Quinn in it.

In all her imaginings of falling in love, she never thought it would be like this—never thought it would be a slave, an enemy of Rome no less, to capture her heart. But now that Quinn has it, Rachel can't fathom giving that up. Her heart has found a home with Quinn.

But for some reason that Rachel can't seem to figure out, the gods have seen fit to stand in the way.

Her arrival at the ludus is met with the usual routine—she exchanges brief pleasantries with Silvanus before Balba leads her to one of the guest rooms while Bestia goes to fetch Quinn. And while she can admit to being oblivious to things at times, there's no mistaking what each of them are feeling tonight. Silvanus almost looks at her with pity, Balba with surprise, and Bestia with wariness.

She can't say she's surprised, but it doesn't stop her own feelings of shame from bubbling up, even though a part of her knows feeling this way is ridiculous. After all, she is a patrician, and everyone here is beneath her. And yet, a stronger part of her knows they are justified in how they feel about her.

Rachel is too anxious to sit and wait for Quinn, so instead she stands, shifting her weight from side to side. Her eyes flit toward the candle on the wall, catching sight of a bead of wax slipping down its side, and Rachel is momentarily distracted by it.

The curtain lifts then, revealing the battle-worn form of her lover.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel breathes, taking in the sight of the deep gash and nasty shiner forming beneath her right eye. It's only now that Rachel fully realizes just how much of a beating Quinn took during her fight, and yet, she thinks it scarcely compares to the beating her heart has taken.

Quinn says nothing, but her eyes say it all as she comes into the room and lets the curtain fall behind her, grimacing slightly with every step. Rachel's feet seem to move of their own accord, meeting Quinn halfway.

"Are you alright?" she asks as she gently cups Quinn's face, careful not to touch the angry mark on her cheek.

Strong hands make their way to Rachel's hips. "Yes and no," Quinn replies softly, eyes shining with a mixture of pain, sadness, love, and relief. "I didn't think you'd come tonight."

"I couldn't stand being away from you," Rachel says, brushing her nose against Quinn's as she gazes up into hazel eyes. "Of course, I always want to be with you, but after everything that happened this afternoon, I _needed_ to see you."

"I'm so glad you came," Quinn breathes before capturing Rachel's lips in a soft kiss.

Rachel's eyelids flutter shut as she lets herself momentarily get lost in everything Quinn, soaking in the taste and smell and touch of her lover. She lets Quinn control the pace, knowing how she normally is post-fight. But to Rachel's surprise, the battle lust that often overtakes her is absent—then again, the circumstances surrounding Quinn's fight have undoubtedly tempered it.

Even so, Rachel doesn't miss the undercurrent of possessiveness in Quinn's kiss, and she gladly surrenders to it. This is where she belongs. This is who she belongs to.

But there's also a hint of desperation and heartbreak in Quinn's kiss, and Rachel knows the feeling all too well.

After long moments, Quinn draws back, resting her forehead against Rachel's, causing her to open her eyes once more, and Rachel wishes she could remove the pain and sadness from Quinn's.

"Stay the night?" Quinn asks, and oh does Rachel want to. The opportunity is so rare—Quinn is only afforded the privilege to spend an entire night outside of the barracks after a victory in the arena.

"I wish I could," she replies regretfully. "But I can't take the risk of not being home in the morning. I was almost caught once, and considering I'm supposed to be ill and sleeping it off, lying my way out of it won't be easy."

"So you're supposed to be with him tonight," Quinn realizes, her voice cracking slightly as her eyes start to glisten.

Rachel nods, not without a sense of guilt.

Pink lips press together momentarily. "How much longer do you think you'll be able to do this?"

"I don't know," Rachel replies apprehensively, feeling her stomach twist and her own eyes prick with tears. "I don't want to think about _not_ seeing you."

"I know, I hate thinking about it too, especially knowing the reason _why_." Quinn swallows thickly as her fingers tighten their hold on Rachel's hips. "I can't lose you, Rachel. Today, seeing you with him…" she confesses, and finally the dam breaks.

The sight of Quinn crying is enough to make Rachel's own tears finally fall. "I'm yours, Quinn," she insists softly. "Not his. Not _ever_ his. _Only_ yours."

Hazel eyes close then as Quinn seems to soak in her words.

"I love _you_ , Quinn." Rachel caps off her declaration with a soft kiss, hoping Quinn can feel just how much she means it.

* * *

Two candlemarks later, Rachel reluctantly takes her leave of Quinn with a promise to return as soon as she is able to. They hadn't made love, since Quinn wasn't in any kind of shape for that, but the closeness—just being together—had comforted them both.

Rachel doesn't regret bailing on the emperor for one moment. She only regrets having to say goodbye to Quinn, but she needs to get home before her fathers do.

As she walks through the atrium, Rachel pulls her cloak around her shoulders. She pauses at the doorway to Silvanus's office, offering the woman a cursory goodnight, which earns her a similar response—although, Rachel can't help but notice the cautionary look the lanista gives her.

Confused, Rachel turns to make her way out of the ludus, but her heart stops when she catches sight of the man standing in the vestibule.

"My lady," Bromidus greets her stiffly, disapproval written all over his face, and it would be enough to make her bristle if not for the absolute _fear_ coursing through her right now. "I need you to come with me to the palace to see the emperor."

He doesn't wait for her response, swiftly turning on his heels, and Rachel wordlessly follows after him, her mind racing and her heart pounding.

She could kick herself right now. She should have known Sejanus would have her followed. She should have paid more attention to his warning earlier today, which seems so obvious in retrospect. She prays that she hasn't somehow put Quinn in danger.

All too soon, they arrive at the palace, and with every step Rachel takes up the stairs, the knot of dread in her stomach grows.

Bromidus leads her to the northwest end of the palace, to where the emperor's private rooms are, finally stopping in Sejanus's study, where he and Andronicus are engaged in a game of latrunculi.

Andronicus's attention is locked on the board, his brow furrowed in concentration, and he's seemingly unaware of Rachel's presence in the room. Sejanus, however, is very aware, if the dark look cast in her direction is any indication, and Rachel feels her palms sweat and her mouth go dry as her stomach drops.

Sejanus gestures for Bromidus, and the lictor obediently strides across the room. Rachel watches anxiously as he bends down and murmurs something in the emperor's ear as Andronicus finally makes his move.

Expression never changing, Sejanus finally shifts his attention away from Rachel and back to the board. "Still walking right into my traps, Andronicus," Sejanus says before moving one of his own pieces and locking in his cousin's dux, thus winning the game.

"Damn, I thought for sure…" Andronicus trails off, looking at the board before letting out a frustrated sigh and lifting his gaze toward the candle near the doorway. "Oh, Rachel," he exclaims in pleasant surprise. "It's good to see you. Feeling better?"

She's never felt worse. "Yes," she replies, plastering on a fake smile.

"You can go now, cousin," Sejanus cuts in. "I'd like to be alone with my betrothed."

"Of course," he replies, and if he's picked up on the tension radiating in the room, he wisely says nothing as he stands. "Goodnight," he offers before ducking out. Bromidus is right behind him, finally leaving Rachel alone with Sejanus.

He rubs a black game piece between his fingers as he gazes at her for a long moment through narrow eyes. "You must think I'm a fool," he finally says.

"I don't," she insists. And really, she doesn't. Rachel can silently admit that she's been impulsive and reckless, making her the real fool here.

Sejanus scoffs and shakes his head, placing the game piece on the table as he comes to stand, his gaze never wavering. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't know where you were?"

Rachel presses her lips together, smartly not saying anything as she shakes her head.

He steps into her space then, a warning glint in his eyes as he lightly grips her upper arms, causing Rachel's breath to catch in her throat and her pulse to quicken. "I'm going to ask you again, and this time, you better not lie to me," he says, gazing at her sharply. "What is the Gaul to you?"

The threat is unmistakable, and Rachel doesn't know what the right thing to say or do is, not wanting to somehow put Quinn in any danger. "She…" Rachel trails off, and Sejanus's grip tightens ever so slightly. She licks her lips and lets out a shaky breath before finally relenting. "Quinn is my lover," she confesses.

His eyes swirl with a mixture of anger and disapproval. "That ends now, understand?"

The words feel like a knife has been twisted into her chest. Even though she knew a day would come when she would have to end things with Quinn, she's not ready to say goodbye. She can't. She _needs_ Quinn.

"Do you understand?" Sejanus repeats, his firm grip making Rachel all-too-aware of just how helpless she is to do anything other than what the emperor says.

She nods numbly.

"I'm glad that's settled," Sejanus says, his hold on her slowly easing up. "Although, I suppose I can understand why you'd take her as a lover," he continues after a beat, his tone taking on a slightly condescending edge, causing Rachel to look at him warily. "After all, you're still young and haven't yet learned how to properly sate your desires," he explains, his hands sliding down her arms before grasping on to her hips and drawing her closer.

His thumbs caress the tops of her hips, and Rachel shivers, her stomach flipping unpleasantly at his touch—intimate and purposeful and not at all what she wants.

"But as my wife, you will want for nothing," he vows, resting his forehead against Rachel's. "Both in and out of the bedroom."

The look in his eyes is unmistakable, and as his warm breath washes over her lips, Rachel can't stop herself from panicking. It's too much.

"Sejanus, please, I…" Rachel pleads, pulling away from him and holding her hands up defensively, "I can't do this."

There's a flicker of what Rachel can only describe as hurt in Sejanus's eyes before he stares at her for a long moment. He then shakes his head slightly in disbelief, almost as if he's fighting against something. "It was obvious the moment she looked at you that she's completely taken with you, but you…" he trails off, frowning as realization—and revulsion—colors his face. "One more time, Rachel," he says, fists clenching at his side as he glares in warning, sending another spike of fear through her. "What _is_ she to you?"

Rachel hesitates for a moment before realizing that, despite how terrified she is right now, she has nothing more to lose. It's clear Sejanus already suspects the truth, and lying won't save her or Quinn now. "Quinn is the most important person in my life," she replies, tilting her chin up in subtle defiance, although it doesn't stop the small tremors racking her body.

"Is she now?" Sejanus bites back, once again stepping into her space.

Heart racing, Rachel nervously licks her lips, but she doesn't back down. "Yes," she declares, quietly but without indecision. "She is. I love her."

Sejanus's face contorts into an expression of pure loathing. "You _love_ her?" he asks incredulously, disgust dripping from his tongue. "You… how could you…" he stops, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head once more. "Did she tell you about how her tribe hoped to one day conquer Rome?"

Rachel swallows, not daring to answer the question. Quinn had told her that, but she honestly hadn't given much attention to the idea at the time, since it was a moot point. But now it sends an unpleasant ripple through her.

"That's right, Rachel. She and her people would have gladly marched into Rome and taken our homes and everything we cherish," he states emphatically. " _We_ would be _their_ slaves."

That may be true—in fact, everything Sejanus is saying is true—but Rachel doesn't care. Not one bit. Because she loves Quinn, and she knows deep in her heart that her lover would never do anything to hurt her.

"You and her—it ends _now_. And if I find out you've seen her again, there _will_ be consequences," Sejanus continues, his threatening words forcing Rachel to bring her attention back to him. "She _will_ suffer."

At that, Rachel snaps. "As if she hasn't suffered already because of you," she retorts, the emotion thrumming through her making her heedless to the danger at hand.

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a harsh breath through his nose. "Careful, Rachel," he warns, his voice shaking slightly with barely-controlled anger. "You have _no_ idea the leniency I am showing right now for your sake. It's well within my right to have that Gaul whipped and beaten and nailed to a cross for so much as _looking_ at you the way she does."

Fear grips Rachel as her breath gets caught in her throat, desperation replacing the resistance coursing through her mere moments before. "Please, don't," she begs. "She didn't know," Rachel lies. "I promise…" she hesitates, swallowing again, "I promise I'll be faithful to you and _only_ you."

The promise tastes bitter on her tongue and makes her stomach roil, but Rachel can't bear the thought of Quinn being tortured and killed because of her. Her heart cracks at the realization that this is it—she and Quinn are well and truly over—and it feels like her world is ending.


	19. Chapter 19

Quinn stares at her muddled reflection in the water of the basin, wondering if it's possible to die from a broken heart. It feels like she's breathing with a broken chest, and it has nothing to do with her fractured ribs. It's worse than any physical injury ever inflicted upon her.

Closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, Quinn grabs the bottom of her tunic and pulls it over her head, letting out a soft hiss of pain through clenched teeth at the movement.

A low whistle sounds behind her as her tunic falls to the ground. "Broken ribs?" Saoirse asks, taking in the sight of the deep purple bruising along Quinn's right side.

Quinn nods listlessly, grabbing hold of a strigil and wishing that the pain in her ribs was enough to distract her from the ache in her heart.

"I hope you got him good for doing that to you," she says, stepping up beside Quinn at the basin.

Quinn doesn't bother responding, instead staring despondently at the strigil as she scrapes it down her right forearm.

"Although, it looks like he did your face a favor."

Hazel eyes cut to Saoirse then, but she can't even muster any real indignation at the insult.

"Come on, Quinn!" she exclaims. "Show a little fire, would you?"

"She's sad, Saoirse," Britt cuts in then, joining them at the basin. "You would be sad too if I was marrying Polus."

"We don't talk about him," Saoirse rushes out, but it's obvious the mere thought of Britt with Saoirse's previous owner displeases her greatly judging by the pained look on her face. "Besides, that's not the point. Quinn has always been a brooding bitch, but this?" she asks perplexedly, gesturing both arms toward Quinn. "This is pathetic, seeing a once proud warrior reduced to a heartbroken pile of uselessness."

Quinn clenches her jaw, and her eyes sting with unshed tears—Saoirse's words picking at her pride and her broken heart. "You have no idea what I'm feeling."

"Maybe not, but I do know that you've been more miserable than usual. And I know it has everything to do with Rachel and Sejanus," she says, titling her chin up and crossing her arms. "I just hate to see one of the proudest, fiercest girls I know reduced to this. What would King Ruaidhri say if he could see you now?"

"Screw you, Saoirse," Quinn fires back, feeling a sharp flare of anger. "Say what you want about me, but don't you _dare_ speak about my father."

The other girl smiles brazenly at her for a moment, clearly happy to have gotten a rise out of Quinn. "All I'm saying is that you're better than this. You haven't always won every fight you've been in, but you've survived. You've bent, but you've never broken. Until now. And that's a damn shame."

"He's taken everything from me," Quinn grits out helplessly. "My home, my family, my freedom, and now Rachel."

"He hasn't taken _everything_ ," Britt counters with a soft shake of her head, placing a warm hand on Quinn's left shoulder. "I know you're really sad, but you're still here. And Rachel still loves you. And you've still got us."

Quinn lets out a shaky breath and stares straight ahead at the wall behind the basin, trying to rein in her emotions, not wanting to cry in front of them. "You're right," she says after a moment, earning a smile from Britt. "You both are." She tightens her hands into fists, feeling her determination grow in spite of her sadness. "I hate Sejanus for all that he's done, but I'll be damned if he breaks me."

"That's more like it," Saoirse grins. "Don't let go of that anger, Quinn. Use it. Keep fighting."

"Angry Quinn is fine and all," Britt says. "But I still prefer happy Quinn."

Quinn laughs bitterly before wincing at the pain that shoots through her ribs. "Yeah, that's never happening again."

"Sorry to interrupt, girls," Bestia's voice sounds out behind them, causing everyone to look over. The shackles in her hand don't go unnoticed, putting Quinn slightly on edge. Bestia's eyes seek Quinn's then as she approaches her. "Quinn, you're wanted on the training ground," she informs her. "The rest of you stay here."

Frowning, Quinn goes to grab her tunic, grimacing slightly at the movement.

"Don't bother putting that back on," Bestia says apologetically. "You'll just have to take it off again."

"What's going on?" Quinn asks warily, reluctantly holding her arms out for Bestia.

"One of the emperor's lictors is here," she explains, locking the shackles around Quinn's wrists and sending a jolt of fear and anger through her—her mind racing over all the reasons why he might be here, but she has a gut feeling that it has everything to do with Rachel.

Quinn casts a long look at Britt and Saoirse, who are gazing at her with equal parts worry and outrage.

"Don't let that son of a bitch break you, Quinn," Saoirse says firmly.

"I won't," she promises, feeling a surge of adrenaline as she lets Bestia lead her back outside, the normally short trip seeming even shorter.

Standing alongside Silvanus at the center of the training ground is a man wearing a white tunic and a crimson toga. Even if Bestia hadn't told her who was waiting for her, she would instantly recognize him as one of Sejanus's men. Her eyes lock on what he's holding—a long, wooden rod like those held together in a fasces—and Quinn instinctively bristles at the sight.

Her stomach twists unpleasantly, the sinking suspicion that Sejanus must have found out the truth about her and Rachel only growing.

"Chain her up," Silvanus commands Bestia. "And make sure her feet are weighted down. I don't want her moving around during this." Her owner is clearly unhappy if the look on her face is any indication, but Quinn doubts Silvanus is any position to stop whatever it is that's about to happen.

"Sorry, Quinn," Bestia murmurs sympathetically as she locks Quinn's wrists and ankles in place.

Quinn offers her a bitter smile before staring down the lictor, whose expression gives nothing away.

"By order of Emperor Sejanus, you are to receive 30 strikes from the rod," he informs her.

"On what grounds?" she asks testily, even though she knows.

"For coveting what belongs to the emperor," he confirms, gripping the rod with both hands as he moves to stand behind her. "Consider this a warning."

Before Quinn can even brace herself for it, the sound of wood whooshes through the air and her backside is struck. The sting from the blow is immediate, and humiliation floods her.

"One," the lictor counts, before striking her again with the rod, causing Quinn's breath to hitch as pain radiates across her skin. "Two."

The rod cracks against her thighs this time, and Quinn clenches her jaw to keep from making a sound.

"Three."

Again her thighs are hit, and Quinn doesn't know what's worse—the sound the rod makes when it smacks against her body, the physical pain from the blows, or the indignity of her punishment.

It's not until the tenth stroke from unyielding wood that a thought takes root in her mind and refuses to let go—if Sejanus knows the truth, what has happened to Rachel? Has she been punished as well? The very thought of Rachel getting hurt in any way makes her stomach roil and her anger grow.

And she hates that she's in no position to do anything about it if he did.

The blows continue to rain down—the lictor's strikes alternating between her backside and thighs—but Quinn is determined not to let this break her. She won't let Sejanus break her. She's had worse—much worse—and she still has something to fight for.

A sharp crack against her left side is enough to finally break Quinn's silence, and against her own volition, an anguished cry escapes her.

"Twenty-nine."

A final blow hits her right side, and Quinn screams in agony as her already broken ribs suffer further.

"Thirty."

Quinn pants heavily, her body shaking from the pain radiating through her. It's different from a whipping, but right now, Quinn honestly doesn't know which form of punishment is worse. She can practically feel the welts forming under her skin, and unshed tears threaten to fall from her eyes.

She's vaguely aware of the lictor moving in front of her. The tip of the rod is pressed under her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. "If you see Rachel again, the emperor will not be so merciful next time," he warns.

"Did he hurt her?" is all Quinn can think to say, her voice cracking from the discomfort racking her body.

His eyes flicker with surprise, but he doesn't answer her question, and nothing in his expression gives her the slightest clue.

"This goes for you as well, Silvanus," he says then, turning his attention toward her owner, who has been watching Quinn's punishment with silent displeasure. "If Rachel comes here, you are to turn her away immediately. Failure to do so will result in dire consequences."

"Understood, Bromidus," Silvanus replies tightly.

"Good," he says, finally removing his rod from beneath Quinn's chin but not bothering to spare her another glance. "Then I bid you good afternoon, Silvanus."

Silvanus doesn't reply with words as Bromidus takes his leave, but then, Quinn isn't sure she would even notice otherwise, her mind unable to focus on anything but Rachel and the possibility that she might have suffered a similar fate.

* * *

Quinn groans in pain as she pushes herself off her mat.

Sleep has been a hard thing to come by this past week. Between worrying about Rachel and the sheer discomfort she's been in—unable to find a comfortable position to rest in—Quinn is beyond exhausted.

That exhaustion has been a strange blessing of sorts—it's helped Quinn avoid thinking too hard about the fact that she'll likely never see Rachel ever again. But that feeling of melancholy and despair is never far away, and it sometimes overwhelms her—threatening to overtake her completely.

But her friends have been doing their best to keep her from slipping under, and she finds the time spent in their company helps keep her focus where it needs to be right now. Saoirse and Makelesi have both let it be known that they plan on coming at her with everything they've got once Quinn recovers from her latest injuries. It's something to look forward to—something to keep her motivated. To remind her that she's strong and that she will not let the emperor break her.

That and knowing that, even though they can't be together, Rachel still loves her. Quinn tries to hold on to that as fiercely as she can.

Today is the first day that Quinn feels like she can take part in the usual morning routine of training exercises—albeit not at full speed, but thankfully, Silvanus is willing to let Quinn ease back into things at her own pace. It's uncomfortable at times, but other than her ribs barking a few times when she pushes too much, she's glad she's able to get back out there.

But things take an unexpected turn just as lunch is ending. Bestia arrives in the mess hall to inform Quinn that she has a visitor, and Quinn is suitably apprehensive. "Who is it?"

"A friend of Rachel's… Silvanus didn't tell me their name."

Her apprehension only grows, but now it's for completely different reasons. She's on her feet immediately. "Where are they?"

"The room you usually meet Rachel in."

Quinn offers Bestia a tight nod and spares a brief glance at her friends, their expressions varying degrees of surprise and concern. She heads upstairs as quickly as her feet will carry her, wondering who it is that's here to see her and why.

She pulls back the curtain and takes in the sight of an impeccably dressed young man sitting on one of the chairs with his legs crossed.

"Hello, Quinn," he greets her.

"Curtius?" she asks, unable to keep the worry out of her voice as she steps into the room. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about something we have in common."

Immediately, her heart plummets, fearing the worst. "Rachel, is she—"

"She's fine," he assures before frowning a little. "Well, at least physically," he clarifies, and the relief Quinn feels is immeasurable. "Emotionally… not so much. She's heartbroken, and she misses you terribly. For reasons I can't fully grasp, she loves you more than anything on this earth, and being away from you is killing her," he continues, and Quinn knows the feeling all too well. "Truth be told, I've never seen Rachel happier than she was this past summer. I miss that Rachel, and I wish she would come back, even though I wish better for her than a slave," he finishes, giving her a judgmental onceover.

"Of course you do," Quinn sneers, tired of constantly being looked down on by Romans when it should be the other way around. "I'm surprised you're not happy that she's betrothed to your beloved emperor."

Curtius raises an eyebrow. "Beloved? Not quite," he tells her, his lips quirking up in amusement. "Sejanus has many enemies in Rome. Granted, he also has countless supporters."

Quinn takes pause and eyes him curiously. "And which one are you, Curtius?"

"Rachel isn't the only thing we have in common, Quinn."

"Oh?"

"Not everyone is a fan of how Sejanus does things," he elaborates briefly. "I'm going to be honest with you, Quinn. Rachel did ask me to come—to tell you that the emperor found out about your affair and that she won't be able to see you anymore—but judging from the looks of things," he adds, gesturing toward the welts and bruises peeking out from beneath Quinn's tunic and causing her to grimace, "you already know. Personally, I find it intriguing that you're even still alive."

Honestly, so does Quinn, but she isn't going to admit that to Curtius.

"It confirms what I had both hoped and feared. Sejanus is in love with Rachel."

"I really don't want to talk about this," Quinn interrupts with a shake of her head, not wanting to hear any more.

"I think you will, once you hear me out," he replies, and Quinn nods begrudgingly, finally taking a seat—settling down gingerly onto the chair opposite Curtius. "Like I was saying, Rachel asked me to come, but I also came here for my own reasons." He pauses briefly before saying, "I'm worried for Rachel's safety."

That gets Quinn's attention. "I swear, if he hurts her…" she trails off as a feeling a helpless anger overcomes her. What could she do?

"He won't," Curtius corrects her. "That's exactly it, you see. He would never lay a hand on her because he loves her. I suspect that's also the reason you're still alive. If he kills you, he kills any chance of Rachel ever returning his affections. Unfortunately, his affections could potentially put Rachel in danger."

Alarm grips Quinn then as her fists unconsciously clench. "How so?"

"Like I said, Sejanus has many enemies in Rome," Curtius replies. "And I'm afraid that things are about to take a turn."

"What do you mean?" Quinn asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

"There have been some disturbing trends since the emperor's return from Gaul, and the balance of power is shifting away from the Senate and toward Sejanus," he explains. "As much as I respect Senator Hirrus, his decision to marry Rachel off to Sejanus was as much political as it was personal. He's trying to secure his own standing in the eyes of the emperor."

Quinn blanches at the mention of their impending marriage, but Curtius continues on. "Also, not everyone was for the war in Gaul, Quinn," he says to Quinn's utter surprise. "But some of the people who were for it are starting to have a change of heart. It turns out that Sejanus kept the spoils all for himself and is using Rome's money to fund the Games and things like the building of a new theater. There's a dire need for money elsewhere, but it's not getting there because he's too busy spending it on his own vanity projects," Curtius informs her, not bothering to disguise his frustration.

"Something is going to give," he states emphatically. "And as much as many people want Sejanus out of power, because he has so many supporters and so many of the people love him, there is a good chance it will result in a civil war."

Quinn can't deny that there isn't a part of her that wouldn't be happy to see that happen—to see all those Romans kill each other off after all they've done to her and her people—but she hasn't let go of what Curtius opened this entire conversation with, and the very thought of any harm coming to Rachel because of this unrest has her stricken.

"If that happens, being the emperor's wife will put a target on Rachel's back," he finishes with a knowing sadness.

She stares at Curtius with helpless anger. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Blue eyes gaze into hers searchingly, as if Curtius is considering his next words. "Because I need to know how far you're willing to go to protect Rachel and ensure her happiness."

"I would do anything," she replies without hesitation.

"Anything?"

"Without question. I… I love her, Curtius," she says, not caring if she sounds desperate. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe."

He smiles at her then. "That's what I was counting on."

Curtius rises to his feet abruptly, and suspicion soon joins the worry and anger coursing through Quinn. "What are you planning?"

"You'll know when you need to know," he replies cryptically, his expression giving nothing away. "While I still wish better for Rachel than a slave, I'm glad it was you that she fell for," he adds before heading toward the door.

"Curtius, wait," she calls after him, causing him to pause in his steps. "Tell Rachel I love her, and that I haven't forgotten my promise to her."

He nods and bids her farewell.

Quinn stares after him, her mind playing over everything they talked about as she tries to will away her anxiousness over it all. She doesn't trust Curtius—not really. After all, he's still a Roman. And he's still a politician.

But he is Rachel's best friend, and that has to count for something. She doesn't really know what she'll be able to do to protect Rachel seeing how she's still a slave, but she meant every word she said to Curtius. She'll do whatever it takes to keep Rachel safe.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up. I did my best in regards to research, but I found conflicting information, so this might not be the most accurate thing in terms of detail. If you're a stickler for this sort of thing, I ask you to please just roll with it.
> 
> As always, thanks to poetzproblem for beta-reading this chapter. :)

Today is the day. The day Rachel has been dreading for months. The day that will see her officially bound to Emperor Sejanus—the man she both hates and fears—forever.

Sounds of the household slaves working to prepare for the wedding ceremony filter into her bedroom, and she catches snippets of her fathers' directives. Just the sound of their voices is enough to get under her skin. Things have been beyond tense between her and her fathers ever since the emperor threatened Quinn's life two months ago. Rachel hates Sejanus for it—for everything he's done to hurt Quinn, especially when Curtius told her about the beating her lover received—but fear keeps her from expressing her displeasure with him.

But keeping that emotion bottled up completely has been trying, and her fathers have increasingly been on the receiving end of her foul moods. She would feel badly about it, but she considers it their fault she was even betrothed to Sejanus in the first place.

Rachel sets her jaw and stares at her reflection while Elianne fixes her hair and adorns it with flowers, taking in the sight of the white _tunica recta_ and stola she now wears. Her eyes fall to the wool sash at her waist, tied into the knot of Hercules, and she tries not to think about the fact that Sejanus will be the one untying it at the end of the night.

A knock at the doorway to her bedroom draws Rachel out of those unpleasant thoughts. "Come in," she says, bracing herself to come face-to-face with one of her fathers. Her shoulders sag in relief when she catches sight of a blonde head of hair and her bridesmaid's easy smile.

"Good morning, sweet cheeks," Hostia greets, breezing into the room and giving Rachel a once over. "You look lovely."

"Thanks," Rachel mutters, unable to muster any real enthusiasm.

Hostia's lips curve down slightly. "Would you excuse us, Elianne?" she says after a moment. "I'll finish getting the bride ready."

Rachel can't stop the grimace that crosses her face at the mention of the word "bride" as she watches her slave leave her room before bringing her gaze back to Hostia.

"So…" she begins, moving over to Rachel's dressing table and picking up the red veil resting atop it. "Want to tell me what's been eating at you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Rachel asks with a scowl. "I don't want to be getting married."

"I figured as much," Hostia says, stepping behind Rachel then to affix the veil atop Rachel's head. Rachel watches her in the mirror. "But I don't understand why. Almost every girl in Rome envies you. And Sejanus absolutely adores you, you know."

"I know," she replies bitterly. "It's just…"

"Just what?" Hostia pries. When no response is forthcoming, she moves to stand in front of Rachel, leaning against the edge of the dressing table and gazing at her with sincerity. "Rachel, you can tell me anything. I promise it won't go past these walls."

That's enough to get her to relent. While Curtius has been willing to listen to her struggles, Rachel thinks maybe Hostia will be more understanding. "Do you remember the party we had here last year for Silvanus's gladiatrices?"

"How could I forget?" she replies with a smirk. "That was a very, very good night."

Rachel blushes and clears her throat a little at the memory of Hostia cozying up to Saoirse and Britt. "Right, well, that night I took Quinn to my bed."

Hostia's smirk grows, but then her face dawns with understanding. "Let me guess—that wasn't the last time you saw her."

Rachel presses her lips together and nods. "I couldn't help myself. I kept having to get another taste. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her."

"Oh, Rachel," Hostia says, a strange mix of sympathy and disapproval coloring her voice.

"I know, I shouldn't have, but… I don't see her as a slave," she explains a little defensively before softening. "Quinn is the most incredible person I've ever met, and… I wish _so_ badly that things were different," she confesses. "I wish that my fathers had chosen Curtius to be my husband. At least then I would be free to continue seeing Quinn, and Curtius would take whoever he wanted as his lover."

Hostia nods in understanding. "You'd be like me and my husband. I have to admit I really lucked out there." She pauses for a moment, her brows knitting together in thought. "Does Sejanus know?"

Rachel nods. "He's threatened to have Quinn killed if I see her again," she replies with helpless anger. "But being away from her is killing _me_. It's like a piece of me is missing." She presses her palms against the soft wool covering her thighs as she lets out a long breath. "But I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing in front of Sejanus."

"He would never hurt you though," Hostia argues. "He loves you. It's obvious to anyone who's spent any time around you two. He showers you with gifts and affection—not to mention, he actually encourages your dream of being a performer."

Rachel lets out a doleful laugh. "He might love me, but he's already hurt me. By hurting Quinn—threatening the person I love most in this world." Her fists clench in her lap as she stares down at them, willing herself not to tear up. "I _hate_ being with him, and by the end of today, I'm going to belong to him. I don't want this," she says, shaking her head. "I never wanted any of this. I just want Quinn."

Hostia sighs and rests her hands on Rachel's shoulders. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, giving them a comforting squeeze. "If it's any consolation, my brother is convinced Sejanus won't be in Rome for too much longer, so at least you'll have some time for yourself."

Rachel lifts her gaze to look up at Hostia, not daring to get her hopes up. "What makes Duvianus think that?"

"I overheard him saying that another war is imminent," Hostia explains, slowly drawing her hands back to her sides. "If that happens, then of course Sejanus will be leading the charge. He always does."

"He'll have me watched," Rachel laments with a shake of her head. "Even if he's halfway across the world, I can't take the risk of seeing Quinn. I can't bear the thought of her being hurt again because of me."

Hostia gazes at her sympathetically. "I know this isn't what you want, and I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better."

"I appreciate you listening," Rachel says.

"That much I can promise you I'll always be able to do," Hostia replies with a good-natured smile. "And if you ever need an escape from the palace, my home is always open to you."

"Thank you," she replies gratefully.

"My lady," Elianne interrupts, and the sound of her voice sends an unpleasant ripple through Rachel. "You're needed in the atrium. It's almost time for the ceremony to start."

"Shall we?" Hostia asks, pushing off from the edge of the dressing table and holding out her hand for Rachel to take.

"Do I even have a choice?" Rachel grumbles as she comes to stand, looking every inch the emperor's bride-to-be and cursing the gods for twisting her fate so cruelly.

* * *

The atrium is filled with almost 50 guests—nearly five times more than usually would attend a wedding—but given the status of Sejanus as emperor and Rachel being the daughter of a senator, it's to be expected. Fortunately, her home (she tries to ignore the fact that it will no longer be her home in less than a candlemark) is more than big enough to accommodate everyone.

Rachel's oddly grateful that there are so many people here. With an audience of this size, she can almost— _almost_ —pretend she's performing—like she's an actor playing the role of someone else entirely.

She waits in the vestibule with Hostia, hidden from view and focusing on the priest standing in front of the _lararium_ —the altar dedicated to the gods—in the atrium and not the man who will soon be her husband. As the gods are called upon by the priest—first Janus, then Juno and Jupiter, Tellus, and, finally, Hymenaeus—Rachel prays. She prays that they take mercy on her and somehow get her out of this. But most of all, she prays that they will watch over and protect Quinn.

A sliver of doubt nags at her though, her faith in the gods is no longer as unwavering as it once was.

"You'll be alright, sweet cheeks," Hostia murmurs against her ear as she hooks an arm with Rachel's.

She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and briefly squeezes her bridesmaid's hand. Hostia's always been like an older sister to her, and more than ever Rachel is glad to have her at her side—especially since Hostia is effectively standing in for her mother today.

Rachel wonders what her mother would make of all this, but before she can consider it too much, the priest gestures for her to come forward, and Rachel softly shakes her head—once again doing her best to put herself into her role. This isn't her.

As she enters the atrium and all eyes turn on her, Rachel makes a concerted effort to connect with as many of them as she can—offering smiles, strained as they may be, to anyone she can. She almost doesn't want this moment to end—doesn't want to lose her connection to these people—because when it does…

And there he is—gazing at Rachel with a mixture of pride, love, fondness, and a touch of smugness—and Rachel swallows, feeling her pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons.

Rachel can't hear Hostia's parting words as her bridesmaid hands her over to the groom. The blood in her veins rushes too loudly as Sejanus clasps her hands in his own. His smile is warm, but Rachel can't bear to look.

So she lowers her gaze and cuts her eyes to the left, fixating on the water that pools at the base of the _lararium_. The priest ties their wrists together then, and Sejanus lightly squeezes her right hand. Rachel wants to scream—declare to everyone and everything that this is all wrong, that she shouldn't be here, that her heart belongs to someone else—but she can't.

She tries to remind herself that this isn't her.

The vows are simple, uttered as an ancient chant. "Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia," Rachel sings quietly, and Sejanus echoes those same words moments later. There is a slight pause, and then the priest instructs them to face the altar, which Rachel is oddly grateful for. It gives her an excuse not to look at Sejanus, even though their hands are still locked together.

The priest says a few more prayers before making an offering of cake to Jupiter. Moments later, a piece of that blessed cake is presented to Sejanus and Rachel by the priest, marking the official beginning of their union.

Rachel thinks it's incredibly ironic that something that tastes so sweet can represent something so sour.

* * *

The crowd outside is raucous and nothing short of jubilant. Hundreds of people have come out to celebrate the marriage of the emperor to Senator Hirrus's daughter.

Sejanus is, thankfully, leading the procession to the palace, leaving Rachel to walk with Hostia, Curtius, and a handful of attendants bearing torches. Her fathers are also mixed in, along with the rest of their guests, but Rachel is most cognizant of her best friend and her bridesmaid—each providing her with a warm, steady hand on each arm as they march through the streets of Rome.

Rachel is technically in a spiritual no-man's land right now. She's been severed from the protection of her household gods, and until she crosses the threshold of the palace, she'll remain that way. The distaff and spindle in her hands offer her a modicum of relief, but it's still a little disconcerting. She's sure her unhappiness is tempting spirits with ill intentions, but the bawdy jokes being told and general good mood of the people around her will keep them at bay. The general revelry still grates at her though.

Curtius leans into her then, offering her a smile in what Rachel thinks is meant to cheer her up. "This union is a blessing in disguise," he says then, quietly enough for just her to hear, and Rachel blanches, almost offended at him for suggesting such a thing. Blue eyes twinkle at her displeasure. "Trust me. This is only the beginning. Think of it as a necessary evil to your eventual happiness."

Rachel's brow furrows in confusion at his words, but now isn't the time to ask him what in the gods' names he's talking about. Still, she fully intends to do so later.

It doesn't take long for their procession to arrive at the palace. Once there, the final bit of ritual commences, and it briefly gives Rachel something to focus on that isn't her husband. Add in the fact that this part of the ceremony will ensure she is once again protected by the gods, it's easier to ignore the emperor.

Sejanus enters his home, waiting inside the vestibule. Rachel hands off her distaff and spindle to Hostia and then takes the olive oil the priest offers her, which she uses to anoint the doorway. Next, she ties woolen ribbons around the door, ensuring good luck.

"You may now cross the threshold," the priest informs her.

Andronicus and Curtius then scoop Rachel up in their arms and carry her into the palace—making sure any spirits that might be lurking in the doorway don't trip her on the way inside—before gently placing her back on her feet. Rachel lets out a small sigh of relief. Now that she's inside, she's safe—once again under the protection of the gods.

But that relief is short-lived, because Sejanus is there in an instant, taking her arm and drawing her in close. "Welcome to your new home, Rachel," he says with a proud smile.

Aware of their guests' eyes on them and knowing what's expected of her, Rachel offers him a smile, albeit a fake one, in return. "It's good to be home," she lies, knowing this place will never be so.

* * *

Candlewax drips from the sconces along the walls—the wicks nearly burned out completely—but the wine, food, conversation, and entertainment show no signs of stopping.

Rachel hopes that she can stay here all night until everyone is too tired to do anything but sleep. Unfortunately, Sejanus has been growing noticeably anxious as the candlemarks have passed, and it's caused Rachel's own anxiety to spike, but for completely difference reasons.

Rachel's not stupid. She's seen the way he looks at her—has been looking at her for months—but he's never pushed for anything beyond handholds and hugs. But now things are different.

Now they are married, and with that comes certain expectations—expectations that Rachel would rather not consider.

She's mid-conversation with Andronicus, when Sejanus moves closer to her. He's been close to her side all night, but this time, it's different, and Rachel doesn't miss the purpose in his movements. He raps his fork against the side of his wine glass, capturing the attention of their guests. A slave is there moments later to take his glass, freeing up his hands, and a strong arm quickly wraps around Rachel's waist as a hush falls over the room. Rachel feels her mouth go dry—no longer able to hold on to the threadbare imaging that she's playing the role of someone else. This is her life, and this is actually happening.

"I'd like to thank all of you for joining us today to witness and celebrate our marriage," Sejanus announces to the crowd, offering them all a warm smile as his hold around Rachel tightens. "But it's time for my wife and I to bid you all goodnight. Of course, you're welcome to stay and continue celebrating as long as you'd like. Our home is your home."

The room erupts in cheers, and several people hold their glasses up in a toast. Rachel's eyes instinctively find Curtius and Hostia, who both offer her what she can only describe as comforting looks, and she tries to draw strength from their quiet support as she's led out of the dining room.

But the wolf whistles that sound out behind them have Rachel's stomach dropping, and it's impossible to ignore what awaits her as Sejanus leads her to his— _their_ —bedroom. Sejanus lets out a pleased sigh as they make their way down the hall, and even though he says nothing, that alone is enough to send Rachel's anxiousness creeping higher.

All too soon they reach their destination, and the moment they cross the threshold, Sejanus turns to face her. Strong hands cup her face as blue eyes gaze into hers with deep affection, and Rachel shivers unpleasantly, wishing more than ever that those strong hands and loving eyes belonged to someone else. She would give _anything_ to replace the ruler of the known world with the Gallic slave who owns her heart.

"I love you," is murmured against her lips, and Rachel steels herself, closing her eyes and trying to imagine herself somewhere else entirely.

It's not easy—Sejanus's mouth and hands are insistent, possessive, claiming—but Rachel manages to picture the garden back home, the feeling of the strings of a cithara against her fingertips, singing, escaping in song, and Quinn's tender gaze fixed upon her.

But then those hands slide lower, working to untie the sash at her waist, and Rachel's stomach flips uncomfortably as she's ripped from her imaginary world. "Sejanus, please," she pleads, breaking their kiss and grabbing hold of his hands in an effort to stop their exploration as she stares up at him imploringly. "I'm tired. Can't we just go to sleep?"

Blue eyes narrow in frustration as he breaks her hold and pushes her hands aside. "I have been patient, Rachel," he replies lowly as his fingers deftly undo the knot of Hercules. "But you are now my wife, and I will no longer wait to consummate our marriage," he continues, his tone brokering no argument as his palm splays firmly against her stomach. "You're mine, and I'm yours, just as the gods have willed it."

Rachel swallows back a sob as Sejanus's mouth captures hers again in a possessive kiss, his hands slipping past the barriers of her clothing and claiming what is now his.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New character appearing in this chapter: Docilus = Dakota Stanley
> 
> We're nearing the end of the story, kids. This here is the penultimate chapter.
> 
> As always, many thanks to poetzproblem for being an amazing beta. And also thank you for unintentionally inspiring the very end of this chapter. ^_^

_Caged_ is the only word to describe how Rachel feels now that she's married. It's only been a week, and the thought of having to live like this for the rest of her life is incredibly daunting. She supposes she'll get used to it—after all, countless other couples do—but she doubts her fear and resentment of Sejanus will ever go away.

Sejanus is thankfully at the curia this afternoon, busy with meetings and whatever political squabbling seems to keep popping up. She's grateful for that, at least. The less time she has to spend with him the better. But staying in the palace isn't appealing to her in the slightest. Everything about this place reminds her of him and that she now belongs to him.

Granted, leaving the palace also reminds her that she is now his, as Rachel is required to have an escort. Still, it's better than being here.

She informs Bromidus, the lictor who's been assigned to her, that she's going out. Of course, walking around in plain sight is no longer an option.

"Where to, my lady?" he asks as he helps her into the litter that's been prepared for her.

She considers for a moment. While Hostia did extend an open invitation to drop by her home anytime, there's someone else Rachel needs to see. She just hopes that he's home. "Take me to Lieutenant Brutus's house."

Bromidus bows slightly before turning to the four slaves waiting to carry her litter and letting go of the curtain, hiding her from view. "You heard the lady," he commands.

Rachel lets out a sigh she didn't even realize she was holding and momentarily closes her eyes as she's lifted off the ground. She lets her mind wander as she's carried through the streets of Rome, wondering what Curtius meant when he said her marriage is a blessing in disguise. She scowls slightly at the very thought. Ever since her betrothal, it's felt more like a curse.

It doesn't take long to get to her destination, and Bromidus is immediately at her side, leading her inside her best friend's home. His presence isn't exactly suffocating, but she'd still prefer to be left alone.

Curtius's father, Brutus, is the first person to spot Rachel as she enters the atrium. "Rachel," he greets her with a warm smile. "It's good to see you. Congratulations again on your marriage."

"Thank you," she replies with a practiced, fake smile, having gotten used to similar sentiments from countless others. "Is Curtius in?"

"I think so," he replies. "I just got in myself, but he should be here. You're welcome to go look for him."

"Thanks, Brutus," she says, this time much more genuinely.

"I'll wait here for you, my lady," Bromidus says.

Rachel turns toward him briefly, offering him a curt nod, before making her way out of the atrium and down the short hallway leading to the peristyle. She half expects to see Curtius sitting in the shade along the edge of the garden since it's such a nice day, but he's nowhere to be found.

She continues her walk along the peristyle when she hears muffled voices coming from one of the small rooms up ahead. Realizing that Curtius is likely in said room, she hastens her steps, while her curiosity grows over who those other voices belong to.

"He's well-liked by the people, and he's the perfect puppet," she catches an unfamiliar voice say as she reaches the doorway, and it gives her pause. Coming to a halt, Rachel peers into the room, careful to avoid being seen.

Duvianus shakes his head. "That may be true, but we're tired of waiting," he replies, looking pointedly across the small table he's sitting at with Curtius and Aurelian.

"You won't be waiting much longer," Curtius insists. "Gossip spreads like wildfire, and the timing is finally right to let the truth be known about Rachel's affair with the Gaul, among other things. I know exactly how to spin this in our favor, and in doing so, it will tear at Sejanus's pride. Given his ego, he'll respond."

His words take Rachel by surprise, but they also fill her with a sense of unease. She shifts away from the doorway, not wanting to be caught, and instead opts to press her back against the wall of the peristyle as she continues to eavesdrop.

"There's no guarantee this will work. He could just as easily have that Gaul killed instead and be done with it," Duvianus argues, sending a jolt of fear up Rachel's spine.

"He could. But it's worth a shot, and it's no risk to us," Aurelian replies, making Rachel's heart plummet while she simultaneously bristles.

"Exactly," Curtius jumps in. "If this works, it's the same result as an assassination, except our hands are clean and there's no civil war. If it doesn't work, there's no risk of us being implicated in anything. Then we go with your plan, which is far messier and will undoubtedly lead to a lot of bloodshed."

Rachel's fists clench at her side, and after what she's heard, she can no longer stand idly by. Pushing herself off the wall, she enters the room with no sense of pretense. "What's going on?" she demands, the sound of her voice causing all three men to jump at the unexpected interruption.

"Rachel?" Curtius exclaims nervously. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to see you," she bites back.

"Is there anyone with you?" Duvianus asks before Rachel can keep pushing for answers.

"Just one of Sejanus's lictors," she replies tightly. "Don't worry, he's waiting for me in the atrium, so he wouldn't have heard anything." She fixes her gaze on all three of them. "Tell me what's going on."

"It's really not your concern," Aurelian starts.

"Not my concern?" Rachel interrupts testily. "I heard enough of your conversation to know that it _very_ much concerns me."

Duvianus's jaw noticeably tightens as his eyes narrow, causing Curtius to put his hand up in a placating manner.

"I'll handle this," he says to his colleagues, before coming to stand and gazing at Rachel with absolute sincerity. "Rachel, I can't tell you what's going on, but I promise you that I am looking out for your happiness."

"How?" she retorts incredulously. "From the sound of things, you're going to use Quinn as a pawn in one of your political schemes. How is that looking out for my happiness?"

Curtius sighs. "I am trying to keep Rome safe, but I am also trying to keep you safe," he explains. "Tensions are running high, and if things don't change, Rome could very well end up in a civil war. If that happens, _you_ have the potential to become a target. So I'm trying to _prevent_ a war from breaking out."

Rachel swallows thickly at his words. She knows the political environment hasn't always been the most diplomatic, especially lately, but this is news, and it does nothing to settle her. "Even if what you say is true," she replies after a moment, "involving Quinn… I can't let you do that. I have done all that I can to keep her safe. I have abided by my husband's orders and wishes entirely for this reason."

"I know you have," he says gently. "Just trust me, okay, Rachel? I was serious when I told you your marriage is a blessing in disguise, and your affair with Quinn has created the perfect storm." He pauses then, gnawing on his lower lip before finally relenting and divulging a small, yet potentially dangerous piece of information. "If everything plays out the way we're planning, then you'll be a widow very soon. And as a widow…"

Understanding dawns on her then. "I'm free to choose the life I want."

"Exactly."

"But Quinn…" she trails off, nervously wringing her hands together.

"There's still a chance for her to be a part of that life," he insists. "She doesn't know what we're planning, but she's assured me that she'll do _anything_ to protect you and ensure your happiness."

Rachel's brow furrows a little, feeling a touch of jealousy. "You've been meeting with her?"

"Only once, and it was months ago—right after you asked me to relay your message," he clarifies, before lightly placing his hands on her shoulders and gazing at her imploringly. "Rachel, you have to swear that you won't utter a word of what you've heard to _anyone_."

"I won't," she promises, feeling a spark of hope—something she hasn't experienced in what feels like forever. "I promise, I won't say a word." After all, it goes both ways. She'll do anything to protect Quinn.

* * *

 _Frustrated_ is the best way to sum up what Sejanus is feeling right now. Rumors have been flying for weeks now—what really happened to the spoils of the Gallic war and the torrid affair the emperor's wife had with the warrior princess of Arverni, now a popular gladiator, resulting in a star-crossed romance. The mob is eating it up—some even going so far as to sympathize with that filthy Gaul—but more troubling is how it's starting to sway their opinion of _him_.

Oh, certainly, Rachel's reputation has actually taken a much bigger hit than his own, especially in the upper-class circles. Falling in love with a slave is beyond taboo, and while Sejanus has done his best to shield his wife—insisting that they are simply crazy rumors with no basis in reality—he knows the truth.

And the truth is that all the gossip is very much based in reality and that the woman he loves more than anything would rather be with _her_.

Sejanus scowls at the thought as he fists his hands into the cushion beneath him—the gentle, rocking movement of his litter doing nothing to soothe him. All he wants is to capture Rachel's heart—like he captured all those foreign lands in the name of Rome—but it's proving to be more difficult than winning a war.

 _I should have nailed that Gaul to the cross when I had the chance_ , he laments, privately admitting that failing to do so was his only mistake in the Battle of Arverni. He simply never could have imagined things would have ended up like this.

What's worse is how much this is distracting him. There are much bigger things he should be concerning himself with—the _praetor urbanus's_ agenda in particular. Despite Sejanus having the majority of the Senate in his corner, Duvianus has been proving to be quite the nuisance. And yet, his mind keeps coming back to this.

Sejanus thought he had been so lucky to find Rachel. Love is never a consideration when it comes to most marriages, but it's something he craved. In addition to a union that would lead to a stronger standing in the political arena, he wanted a woman who would warm his bed, offer him companionship, and keep his heart safe. And while he was content to forego love if it meant more power, when he met Rachel, he was overjoyed—thinking that he could have it all. As he should. After all, an emperor should never have to settle.

Except a _slave_ —one that he himself conquered—got to his wife's heart first. And that makes it all the more infuriating.

"We have arrived, your highness," one of his lictors states as his litter comes to a halt outside the palace.

He lets out a long breath and briefly closes his eyes. _This will pass_ , he tells himself, as he has so many times before. _Rachel will soon forget all about her_ , he adds, but that thought is one that's becoming increasingly difficult to believe. _She is mine._

Sejanus exits his litter and makes his way inside his home, and it immediately brings him a small measure of relief. There's no place like home. Still, he needs to relax and unwind after the day he's had. Wine is definitely in order. Perhaps an extra glass or two for Rachel would be prudent.

"Highness," his advisor, Docilus, greets him with a small bow, as he seemingly pops out of nowhere.

Sejanus rolls his eyes. Can he never get a break? "What is it, Docilus?" he asks, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Docilus flinches slightly. "As you requested, I am to keep you abreast of all the gossip related to your wife."

At this, Sejanus keys in on his advisor, his lips curving down into a frown.

"There's a new rumor swirling," Docilus elaborates. "Well, not so much a rumor as it is a challenge and one that the mob is _very_ much in favor of, even if I-"

He practically growls in frustration. "Spit it out," he commands harshly.

"Word on the street is that the Gaul is challenging you to a fight in the arena," he explains, immediately causing Sejanus's hackles to rise. "And the mob is clamoring for it. As you know-"

"Enough," Sejanus cuts him off, holding up his palm to emphasize his point, not wanting to hear anymore of this. He turns to his nearest slave. "Bring me my dinner and the finest wine available. I'll be with my wife."

He doesn't bother waiting for a response, knowing that his orders will be met to the letter, and instead opts to go in search of Rachel—the object of all his desires, both pure and carnal, and yet, at the same time, the source of all of his current unease.

After being tipped off by another household slave, he finds her sitting in the smallest garden of the palace, a cithara in hand, but she's not playing. Instead, she seems to be lost in thought, staring at the flowers that are about to bloom—the white petals of the gladiolus just starting to peak out.

Just the sight of her fills him with bittersweetness. She's everything he's ever wanted in a woman, but the swirling gossip has made doubt creep in—doubt that he'll be able to make her forget about that Gaul for good. But defeat isn't something Sejanus is used to. Nor is it something he is willing to accept. He reminds himself to continue to be patient with Rachel, to wait her out, not unlike when he laid siege to Arverni.

"Dinarii for your thoughts?" he asks as he steps closer to her, even though his stomach twists a little, a part of him knowing he wouldn't like the real answer to his question so much.

Rachel closes her eyes, and her lips twitch up into a sad smile. "Writer's block," is all she offers.

"Maybe I can help," he says, placing his hands on her shoulders and trailing them down her arms, before intertwining his fingers with hers over the strings of the cithara. He feels her tense under his touch—something he's felt every time he's touched her since their wedding night.

"Maybe," she replies, her voice lacking any kind of emotion that Sejanus can discern.

He bumps his forehead lightly against Rachel's then, before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a soft, yet insistent kiss, hoping he elicits some kind of impassioned response. Instead, he's met with her usual, practiced detachment.

It's infuriating, especially in light of what Docilus just shared with him. His advisor's words have taken root in the back of Sejanus's mind, refusing to let go, and, unbidden, thoughts of that Gaul ravishing his wife rise up—bringing her genuine joy in their mutual pleasure—and he finds his patience slipping.

Sejanus breaks their kiss and draws back, staring down at Rachel, who gazes up at him warily, as if sensing his sudden shift in mood.

"You still love her, don't you?" he asks accusingly.

"I made a promise to you, Sejanus," she refutes with a shake of her head, but her eyes give her away. "I made a promise to be faithful to you, and I have been."

He scoffs. "Faithful in body, yes, but not in heart or mind."

Rachel averts her gaze then, as she so often does in his presence, and it seems to sting more every time she does it.

"You're never going to love me, are you?" he asks unbidden, and he hates how vulnerable it feels to even ask such a thing.

It's a rhetorical question, of course. He knows the answer. And it kills him that she will never look at him the way he does her.

And it makes him angrier than ever that he didn't have that Gaul executed. It certainly wasn't mercy that made him declare her _ad ludum_ instead of joining her family on the cross. She was to be the symbol of the barbarian tribe who threatened Rome's freedom—a reminder to the people of Rome of what he achieved in Gaul.

And somehow, it's starting to flip on its head, and the mob is growing divisive. He'll give the people what they want, and in doing so, remind them of his own greatness.

If it was any other gladiator issuing such a ridiculous challenge, he would ignore it. But this? This cannot be ignored. It's a matter of pride now.

And, the more he thinks about it, it's the perfect way to finally be rid of her, especially in light of his promise to Rachel not to kill the Gaul so long as she remained faithful. But Rachel can't possibly hold it against him if he kills that Gaul in a fight that she herself issued a challenge for.

"I'm sure you've heard the latest gossip," he says, his voice taking on the measured confidence it normally has.

Rachel visibly swallows and nods as she finally looks at him again.

"It seems your former lover has a death wish," he continues, causing those beautiful, brown eyes to widen in fear. "And I feel like I should oblige."

"Sejanus, please," she starts.

"No, Rachel," he cuts her off sharply. "You don't get to ask anything more of me when it comes to that slave."

"But I-"

"Highness, your dinner is ready," one of his slaves interrupts.

Sejanus turns his attention away from his wife and toward his slave. "I've decided that I won't be staying for dinner after all," he informs him. "My attention is needed elsewhere." His eyes cut back to Rachel, who is gazing at him with a mixture of trepidation and barely-veiled anger. "But I'm sure my wife would like something to eat. Make sure to wait up for me, Rachel."

And with that, he exits the garden, brushing past his slave, and prepares to head back out into the city.

It's time to settle this once and for all.

* * *

 _Restless_ has become the overriding state of being for Quinn, especially the last few months.

The time apart from Rachel has only made her miss her lover more, and knowing that it's hurting Rachel just as much to be apart makes it all the worse. She hates that Rachel is just as much a victim as she is to Sejanus.

Quinn has been trying to stay focused though—focused on healing and getting stronger every day so that she'll be ready. Ready to protect Rachel in whatever way she can. But how she's going to do that exactly, she still doesn't know. And it's that uncertainty that has Quinn on edge.

Even here in the ludus, Quinn has managed to catch wind of the gossip that's been spreading recently. All it's done is add fuel to the fire that is an underlying sense of worry over Rachel. But the latest bit of news to reach them has Quinn more than a little anxious and definitely perplexed.

"Challenging the emperor to a fight in the arena?" Saoirse asks, shaking a set of knucklebones in her closed fist. "Can't say that's the smartest thing you've ever done."

"I didn't challenge him," Quinn refutes, watching her friend toss the pieces to the ground. "Not that I wouldn't love to face him in the arena, but it didn't come from me."

She suspects Curtius has something to do with this, but what she doesn't understand is _why_. What does this have to do with protecting Rachel? Then again, Curtius implied that he and his colleagues want Sejanus out of power, and this is one way of making that happen.

"It doesn't matter though," she says, scooping up the knucklebones, her fist unconsciously tightening around them harder than necessary. "I doubt Sejanus will even pay any attention to it." _If anything, he'll probably send one of his lictors to punish me again_ , she adds privately. The thought alone has her seething. _Coward_ , she thinks, throwing the bones to the ground.

"I don't know about that," Sukie says worriedly, looking over Quinn's shoulder, and the look on her face along with Makelesi and Harmonia's makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Following their line of sight, Quinn turns her head to the side and gazes over her left shoulder, catching sight of Silvanus, Bestia, and two of Sejanus's lictors.

"You've got to be kidding me," Britt says, causing Quinn's lips to curve up into a bitter smile—her friend stating her own thoughts exactly. It's like the gods are toying with her at this point.

"Quinn," Silvanus states, seemingly resigned as Bestia steps into the room with those damned shackles Quinn has come to loathe.

Quinn has to fight against the urge to lash out—to not be the obedient slave and take whatever is coming for her—but she manages to keep her emotions under control as the cold metal is locked in place around her wrists, purposefully ignoring Bestia's sad eyes. She's learned the hard way that fighting in these kinds of situations only makes things worse.

Still, she's not exactly eager to face what she has determined is an inevitable punishment. What's worse is that, for once, she hasn't done anything to earn it. Not that she _deserved_ it before, but at least those beatings came as a result of her own actions. But this? This is entirely rumor.

She's jerked to her feet by one of Sejanus's lictors, and she grimaces at the uncomfortable pull on her left shoulder. She wonders if it will ever heal completely.

She's led out of the barracks and through the training grounds, until finally she's brought into a small room next to the ludus's makeshift smithy. The shackles on her wrists are briefly removed, but only so the lictors can shackle her again with her arms behind her back. Another set is then fastened to her ankles.

"On your knees, slave," one of the lictors orders.

Quinn sneers but does as she's told, wondering what they're going to do to her this time as her wrists and ankles are chained to the floor, sending another wave of anxiousness through her. She hates being so confined.

Then, to her confusion, Silvanus and Bestia leave the room along with one of the lictors, her owner shaking her head slightly as she goes.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what's going on," she says bitterly to the lictor who remains.

"He won't, but I will," a familiar voice replies, followed by its owner stepping into the room.

The sight of the emperor makes Quinn's eyes widen in surprise, but that surprise is short-lived—immediately replaced by a swirling anger in her gut. "You're a coward, chaining me up like this," she says, glaring up at Sejanus, hating how often she's been in this position with him. "Afraid I'll take you down?"

"Hardly," he scoffs, clasping his hands behind his back as he stares down at her. "I'm simply reminding you of your place, since you continue to be so forgetful. I'm your emperor. And you? You are only what I say you are. And I say you're nothing."

"You know that's not true," she says with a shake of her head, lips curving up smugly. "If I was nothing, you wouldn't be here. You're threatened by me, because I'm not nothing to Rachel, no matter what you say or do."

His eyes narrow, and Quinn feels her confidence grow, knowing that she's hit a sore spot. "She's forgotten all about you," he says, but Quinn doesn't believe him for a second. "I give her everything she deserves and more. What kind of life could you have even given her, slave?"

Quinn clenches her jaw in frustration, unable to adequately respond, because he's right. She _can't_ give Rachel what she deserves, and it's all because of the man standing before her. "Why are you here?"

"Like I said before, to remind you of your place," he replies. "Make no mistake, slave. I am not here because of anything you've asked," he continues, and Quinn doesn't bother to correct him. "I've decided to indulge my people and give them the entertainment they're craving."

Quinn stares at him warily, almost unable to believe that he would actually do this. "You're going to fight me in the arena?"

He hums slightly in what she assumes is affirmation. "You see, my people have seen the reenactments and heard the stories of Rome's victorious battles, but they haven't actually seen what I can do in person," he explains. "And you? You are one of the best gladiators in the Games right now. And every time you've fought and won, it has served me well, because my people are reminded that it was _I_ who conquered you and your tribe," he states, causing Quinn to scowl. "But you've served your purpose of being a symbol of my greatness long enough," he continues, his gaze hardening. "I have defeated you before, and I will do so again."

"You didn't defeat me," she argues. "Twenty of your centurions did. In a one-on-one fight, I would easily beat you."

He looks amused by that. "Are you so sure about that, Gaul?"

"I would bet my life on it," she declares without hesitation.

"Seeing as that's all you have left, it's the only thing you could wager," he says smugly. "I suppose I should put you out of your misery. After all, what else do you have to live for? You have no home, no family, no lover," he continues, each reminder of what he's taken from her making Quinn's blood boil. "You certainly have no freedom, and I have no intention of giving it back to you. You _will_ die in the arena one day. It would be fitting if it was at the end of my sword."

His words pick at her pride, but her confidence in her own abilities is enough to keep her anger from clouding her mind. And there's a surreal quality to this entire encounter—the fact that the emperor has paid her a personal visit speaks volumes. She is not nothing, no matter how much he may claim otherwise.

She raises an eyebrow as her lips quirk up into a smirk. "Too bad I'm going to embarrass you in front of your precious mob," she retorts. "When will I have the pleasure of finally taking you down?"

"In two weeks time, my people will witness your death at my hands," Sejanus replies, his lips curving up into a cruel smile. Blue eyes then cut to the lictor at his right, followed by a sharp nod of Sejanus's head.

The lictor pulls out a dagger and steps forward, grasping Quinn by the collar of her tunic. She bares her teeth as a bolt of adrenaline surges through her at the sudden, unexpected aggression. Quinn struggles against his grip, but her binds don't allow her to move, making her powerless to stop him from slicing away the worn fabric of her tunic and exposing her torso.

She glares at Sejanus, anger and anxiousness coursing through her body, as the emperor fixes her with a spiteful expression.

"Until then…" Sejanus continues darkly, holding his hand out. Quinn sees another lictor enter the room with a hot iron, causing her heart rate to spike as she realizes what he intends to do. Sejanus takes hold of the iron, and vengeful eyes hone in on Quinn. "Here's something to remember me by," he finishes, thrusting his arm forward.

Quinn screams as the hot iron is pressed into her chest, scalding her skin with a mark that makes her want to vomit. Tears stream from her eyes against her will, and she clenches her teeth, swallowing down the rest of her screams.

Finally, he pulls his hand back, and her chest heaves heavily—each breath making her body clench and draw into itself.

She cracks her eyes open, only to see him turn his back on her. "Enjoy the next two weeks," she manages to grit out as he goes to leave. "They'll be your last."

He pauses in his steps, and an amused chuckle reaches her ears. "I certainly intend to enjoy myself in the time leading up to our match and for many years after. In fact, I plan on enjoying myself as soon as I get home tonight with my wife," he finishes before finally walking out.

The thought of Sejanus with Rachel, combined with the blistering pain radiating from Quinn's chest and the smell of her burned flesh, makes her stomach roil so severely that she can't stop herself from throwing up.

Bestia is there a moment later, working to unlock her shackles, while Silvanus curses lowly as she assesses the damage done.

But through the haze of discomfort, Quinn manages a wan smile. Curtius may have played her, but he's also masterfully played Sejanus. Regardless of Curtius's motives, it's given Quinn an opportunity she has been praying for since the day her tribe fell to the emperor.

She can hardly believe it, but she will have her revenge. And she is going to make Sejanus pay for all he has done.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, kids. Last chapter. There will be an epilogue coming though.
> 
> As always, thank you to poetzproblem for being a kickass beta.

"The greatest show Rome has ever seen."

At least, that's what Silvanus is calling it. She is currently standing in the middle of the training ground of the ludus, decked out in full armor and looking beyond pleased as she gazes upon Quinn with a smug smile. The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows beneath the feet of the seven women standing in the small arena.

"You know, when I first decided to become a lanista, I knew I had to set myself apart from those dregs who taint the very meaning of the word," she continues, and Quinn catches sight of Makelesi rolling her eyes. "So I chose you girls wisely with designs on bringing something truly unique to the Games. But, frankly, after today, I doubt any matched pair any of you might end up in will top this," she says, positively gleeful now. "One of my own slaves fighting against the emperor who condemned her to a life in the arena. It's _delicious_."

Quinn mentally shakes her head and sets her jaw in a hard line. _Delicious_ isn't what she would call it. She doesn't care about the theatricality of it all. All that matters is that she will finally have a chance to exact a measure of revenge for all the pain Sejanus has bestowed on her—the latest of which is still tender and red and raw, her chest now permanently marked with Sejanus's brand.

She knows his intention was to punish and humiliate her, but all he's done is stoke the flames of her desire to see him dead from her own hands. Quinn could almost laugh now at how close she was to letting Sejanus defeat her when he took Rachel as his betrothed all those months ago. And while the thought of him claiming her lover as his own infuriates and sickens her, she knows deep down that Rachel is hers.

Her grief and anger and pain had kept her from truly seeing it at first, but now she knows it, and it's an unshakeable truth she holds dear to. She has Rachel's heart—something that he will _never_ have.

And that had been her saving grace until Sejanus showed up in a rage two weeks ago.

It's almost surreal, and if not for the brand seared into her skin, she would wonder if she had dreamed the entire thing. But she's standing here now, listening to her owner wax poetic about her upcoming fight in the Colosseum, and it makes it all the more real.

"Balba, is my chariot ready?" Silvanus asks then, momentarily drawing Quinn from her musings. A ready chariot means it's almost time for Quinn to depart.

"Yes, Silvanus," Balba confirms with a small nod, having just entered the training area to deliver the news. "And you'll be happy to know that there's already a crowd gathered outside."

"Good," she replies with a satisfied smile, before turning her attention back toward Quinn. "Say your goodbyes. But don't dawdle. The mob awaits." And with that, Silvanus exits the training ground with a flourish, earning yet another eye roll from Makelesi and an amused smirk from Saoirse.

No longer fazed by her owner's antics, Quinn instead focuses on her friends. On days where they all aren't fighting, it's not uncommon for them to gather together before one of them heads off to the arena, knowing that they might not return. Even after all this time, Mhonum's absence is still something they're all acutely aware of. Quinn can't help but blame Sejanus for her death, and she makes a silent promise to avenge it.

Still, there's a sense of unease in the air that Quinn knows goes beyond her friends missing Mhonum, and it makes her bristle. She'll be damned if she doesn't win today. She is not going to squander this opportunity.

Sukie is the first to offer her well-wishes, extending her arm for Quinn to take in a warrior's shake. Harmonia follows suit, and Makelesi then does the same.

"Good luck, Quinn," Saoirse says then, holding her arm out, and Quinn grabs on to it and gives it a solid shake.

"I'm not going to need it," she replies confidently and without hesitation, eyes hard and unyielding, wanting to let her friend know doubting her is a mistake.

"Normally I would agree, but I don't trust that bastard not to pull a fast one. You've obviously gotten under his skin, and this is personal."

"Yeah, please be careful, Quinn," Britt says seriously, her blues eyes shining with concern and capturing Quinn's attention.

She lets go of Saoirse and turns to face Britt, holding her arm out. But instead of taking it in a warrior's shake, Britt steps into Quinn's space and wraps her in a warm hug, taking her by surprise.

"I know you're a great fighter—the best out of all of us," Britt says quietly, just loud enough for Quinn to hear her, and she can't help but soften. "But most of all, you're a great friend. No matter what happens, just remember that we love you."

Hazel eyes glisten, but despite how touched by Britt's words Quinn is, she isn't going to cry. Britt lets go of her then, and Quinn gazes at her friends—her family.

"This isn't a goodbye," Quinn says confidently, her lips turning up in a half smile. "I'll see you tonight, after I win."

 _After I win_ , she repeats to herself as she makes her way out of the arena and through the ludus, not daring to hope what it will mean if she does. She can't get ahead of herself. Not when she's this close. She needs to focus on the present.

But as she steps outside the ludus, she's abruptly thrown into the past. Awaiting her is a cage on wheels, and unbidden, she flashes back to the last time she was in one—when she was brought from Arverni to Massilia almost two years ago.

"What's the meaning of this?" Quinn asks Silvanus, not bothering to hide her displeasure as her wrists and ankles are shackled by a pair of Roman guards. Normally, she's allowed to walk to the Colosseum, albeit in chains.

"I'm putting you on display," Silvanus explains as Quinn is forcefully guided into the cage. "Your admirers want to see you, and who am I to deny them?"

It's then that Quinn finally looks beyond the bars that hold her captive to see the sea of people on hand to catch a glimpse of the day's entertainment. Hazel eyes narrow and fix themselves upon Silvanus.

The lanista only smiles. "Win today and make me a legend," she says before sliding the lock into place and heading toward her chariot to take up the head of their procession.

Quinn shakes her head and tries to push away the all-too-familiar sense of anxiety that comes from being so confined. Closing her eyes, she breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly, trying to calm herself.

She thinks of Rachel—her refuge.

She thinks of her father and mother. She thinks of Seanlaoch and Mhonum. She thinks of her tribe, her home, and everything she has lost. Her hands ball into tight fists, and her jaw clenches.

 _Breathe_ , she reminds herself, willing herself to relax.

This is for them. All of this—everything she has endured—is for them. And she will not fail them now.

Her eyes open.

She's ready.

* * *

Quinn's not sure what the worst part is—the waiting or being on display in this cage. Although, she can privately admit that it's better here in this somewhat secluded area alongside the Colosseum than it is being carted through the streets of Rome.

Most patricians have enough sense to keep their distance, almost looking at her as if she were a wild animal—a lioness kept safely behind bars. Nothing but a mere novelty for their entertainment. Quinn honestly doesn't know how someone like Rachel could come from such people.

Her lips curve up into an involuntary smile at the memory of the first time she was on display here—when Rachel came to see her and gave her a gladiolus, wishing her luck and leaving her with a promise for more. Quinn never could have imagined then that she'd end up falling in love with Rachel and that it would somehow lead her to this very moment.

"Hello, Quinn," a familiar voice sounds to her right, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Hazel eyes cut in that direction before Quinn turns to fully face the patrician offering her a greeting. "Curtius," she replies flatly, not bothering with pleasantries.

His lips quirk up in amusement. "Well someone's in a sour mood."

Quinn's nostrils flare in annoyance. "Spoken by someone who's probably never had a callus in his life," she retorts, giving him a judgmental onceover. "Put yourself in my sandals and see how long you'd last."

Curtius raises an eyebrow in response. "Fair enough," he concedes. "I can admit that you are a much better fighter than me."

The concession doesn't bring her much satisfaction, considering she's stuck in this damned cage and he's free to go wherever he pleases. "What is it that you want, Curtius?" she asks.

"I just wanted to wish you luck today," he replies mildly. "After all, you're going to need it."

She scoffs, shaking her head. "There's no way you possibly believe that," she retorts. "After all, you were the one who started the rumor that I wanted to fight the emperor, so obviously you must think I'm good enough to win," she continues, noticing how his eyes widen nervously. "But what I don't understand is _why_. I thought you wanted me to protect Rachel."

"I do," he confirms, blue eyes darting around briefly. A look of relief washes over his face, seemingly satisfied that no one is eavesdropping on their conversation, before leaning in and lowering his voice. "And you will protect her if you're victorious today. Remove the obstacle, and there will be no war. No war means Rachel will be safe. And no husband means she will be free."

Understanding dawns on Quinn then, although she's still frustrated by being played and used by a Roman, even though having this chance to fight Sejanus is something she wants. "You could have just told me that's what you were doing."

Curtius's lips curve up as he shakes his head slightly. "Trust isn't something I give lightly, especially to enemies of Rome, even if our interests currently align." He clasps his hands behind his back then, gazing at her intently. "But even though I believe you have what it takes to win today, you _are_ going to need some luck," he continues, voice growing firmer. "As you no doubt know, the emperor does not easily concede defeat, and he does not show mercy."

Quinn grimaces at the reminder. "I'm aware."

"Don't let your guard down for one moment," he warns. "And if you're fortunate enough to come out of this alive… who knows? Perhaps a reward will be in your future."

She shakes her head, eyes never breaking from his. "The only reward I need is seeing Sejanus's body impaled by my sword," she states lowly, fists clenching at her sides.

He raises an eyebrow at her once more, this time almost playfully, eyes searching hers for a moment before offering a small smile. "May the gods be in your favor."

He turns on his heel and disappears into the small crowd before she can even form a reply, but it doesn't matter.

She doesn't need his well wishes or encouragement. And even though she does hope the gods are smiling on her today, she knows that, ultimately, it's up to her to get it right.

And she has no doubt that she will.

* * *

When Quinn is finally taken into the underbelly of the Colosseum to prepare for her fight, the first thing she notices is how strangely empty it is. Normally, these corridors are filled with prisoners, slaves, and beasts for the mob's entertainment, along with seemingly just as many guards to keep order. But Quinn's match with the emperor is the day's sole event, and the distinct lack of chaotic activity behind the scenes magnifies just how big today's fight is, not just for Quinn, but for Rome.

And the mob is eager if the sounds trickling in from above are any indication.

As always, Bestia is waiting for her with weapons and armor. Bestia hands Quinn her manica first and offers her a determined smile. It's a welcome sight, and it gives Quinn a small measure of comfort.

"It's nice to know Silvanus isn't the only one who thinks I'll win," Quinn says as she affixes the manica to her arm.

"We're not the only ones," Bestia assures her. "But… well, I don't think I need to tell you why today is different."

"It still feels a little surreal," she admits, tightening the last strap of the manica in place before taking the ocrea from Bestia and fastening it to her leg.

"I can imagine," she replies before letting out a sigh. "Even though it's been almost fifteen years, I would give anything to have a chance to face off against the general who destroyed my home. But I'll settle for living vicariously through you today," she finishes with a half smile as she gives Quinn her shield.

"Slave!" a guard calls out, causing Quinn to involuntarily clench her jaw and let out a sharp breath through her nose. "They're ready for you."

Bestia holds out her gladius and fixes her with another determined look. "Send him to Tartarus, Quinn."

"I intend to," she says with a resolute nod, taking the offered weapon. She grips its handle tightly and slowly jogs away from her trainer, heading toward the gate and the impending fight, feeling her readiness grow with every step.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the orator shouts, his booming voice causing the crowd's raucous cheers to simmer into a soft murmur of anticipation. "Today, Emperor Sejanus presents you with an unprecedented battle for the ages! For the first time in the history of the Games, Rome's emperor will step into the arena and vanquish the enemy of our great empire himself!"

The crowd is unable to contain its excitement and lets loose another cry of jubilation, and Quinn can't help but sneer at how they lap up the spoon-fed patriotism.

"Representing the ludus of Silvanus and the fallen, enemy tribe of Arverni is the Gallic warrior princess, Quinn!" he announces, earning a mixture of boos and cheers from the crowd.

Unable to stop her lips from curving up into an amused smile at the mob's fickleness, Quinn tightens her grip on her sword and shield as she steps through the gate and walks onto the sands of the Colosseum—anticipation thrumming through her veins.

The din of the crowd is still as intoxicating as ever—the energy flowing off them sending a surge of adrenaline through Quinn. But it's not just the crowd and the anticipation of the fight that lies ahead that has her buzzing—it's the chance to finally lay eyes on her lover after having been kept away from her for so long.

Eagerly, Quinn looks up toward the emperor's box, where her lover is seated and watching her attentively. The sight of Rachel has her heart twisting wistfully as her lips curve up into a warm, loving smile. Rachel returns it, although Quinn can tell it's tinged with worry. She wants to tell her not to worry, that she loves her, and that she's fighting not just for herself and for those she's lost, but for Rachel's future.

"I love you," Rachel mouths, and Quinn feels a rush of warmth wash over her along with an immense swell of pride. That Rachel no longer cares if the whole world knows where her heart truly lies—it makes Quinn feel like she can take on anything.

Their interaction doesn't go unnoticed. Even though Quinn's attention is solely on Rachel, she can feel the crowd's eyes on them and hear their reaction at realizing the rumors about them are in fact true. She's also vaguely aware of the judgmental looks being sent Rachel's way by nearby patricians.

"And representing our glorious empire," the orator continues, drawing the crowd's attention away from Quinn and Rachel and toward the opposite gate, and Quinn reluctantly tears her gaze from her lover in order to focus on her opponent, "your magnanimous emperor—Gaius Julius Sejanus!"

The emperor, decked in full, leather armor, steps through the opposite gate with ten of his lictors right behind him. Predictably, cheers rain down, but, to Quinn's surprise, there are some boos mixed in as well. Her eyes harden as she watches Sejanus enter the arena with all the swagger of a conquering hero—expression smug as he waves to the crowd, clearly reveling in the adulation most of the mob is giving him. The mere sight of him makes Quinn's blood boil, but his demeanor reinforces every intention she has to take Sejanus down once and for all.

Finally, he turns his gaze upon Quinn, and she unconsciously tightens her grip on her sword. Sejanus's lips curve up in amusement, but there is genuine hatred in his eyes. The feeling is very much mutual, and she does absolutely nothing to hide that fact.

"Cheer up, slave," he taunts as his lictors form a large, loose circle around them. "You're about to be reunited with your family in Tartarus. I'm sure you've missed them."

She smiles sardonically at him then, refusing to take the bait. If anything, his words only fuel her. "The only one going to Tartarus today is you," she replies, sparing his lictors a brief glance before focusing on Sejanus once more. "What's the matter? Afraid to face me alone?"

"Hardly," he scoffs. "They're just here to make sure you don't step out of line. After all, one can never be too careful around barbarians."

"And one can never be too careful around cowards," she retorts, dropping into her stance, ready to get this fight started.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, slave," Sejanus says, drawing his gladius from his scabbard and wasting no more time. He rushes her, and the crowd roars to life.

But Quinn is ready for him, blocking the first strike with her shield. She quickly counters with an attack of her own, only to be met with Sejanus's parma. Gazes locked and teeth bared, they trade blows for several heated moments—swords clashing against shields as they circle around one another, each looking to get the upper hand.

With every strike and parry, Quinn is reminded of every injustice Sejanus has brought to her and those she loves, and her anger toward him grows. She wants nothing more than to end him, but she tries to keep her emotions reined in enough to focus. She can't allow her anger to take over completely. She hates to admit it, but Sejanus is incredibly skilled—she has yet to spot a flaw in his technique—so she can't afford to make any mistakes.

But she needs to be willing to take a risk, she realizes, as Sejanus's blade once again cracks against her shield. Breaking the pattern they've been in since this fight started, Quinn doesn't counter the attack. Instead, she lowers her parma and gladius slightly and shifts to her right, leaving herself open.

Blue eyes light up, and Sejanus looks to take advantage, thrusting his blade at her gut. Anticipating that he would do just that, Quinn swipes her blade across her body and up, knocking his sword away. She follows with a quick slice down, cutting into the outside of his right thigh.

Sejanus grimaces, and the mob reacts with a mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and excitement. Quinn can't help but feel a measure of satisfaction at making him bleed as she deftly jumps back, getting herself into a less vulnerable position.

"You got lucky," he says with a shake of his head. "It won't happen again," he asserts before lifting his right arm up and striking down with even more power.

Quinn once again blocks it with her shield before countering with a thrust of her sword, managing to get past his shield, but, to her chagrin, she's stopped by his thick, leather belt.

Sejanus counters with a sharp, downward thrust of his shield, intent on smashing Quinn's right forearm, but she pulls back, avoiding the attack, before raising her arm and aiming higher. Trying to take advantage of his body's momentum, she slices her blade down toward his neck.

He barely manages to shift his feet to the side, but it's enough to get him out of harm's way, and her sword instead hits the leather covering the top of his left shoulder. Sejanus swiftly shoots his left arm up, and this time, he connects with the underside of Quinn's right forearm.

The stinging pain of the edge of his shield slamming into unprotected skin causes Quinn's grip to slacken as she lets out a yelp, and her weapon falls from her hand before she instinctively draws her arm close to her body.

Sejanus kicks her fallen gladius toward one of his lictors, who picks it up and keeps it for himself, earning a mixed reaction from the crowd. Quinn narrows her eyes and practically spits the word _coward_ at Sejanus. He only smiles before rushing her once more.

The clash of metal against metal echoes around them and reverberates through her left shoulder as Sejanus comes at her with a relentless assault, alternating between attacking with his gladius and parma. It's all Quinn can do to block them with her shield, but with every mounting blow, discomfort grows—her shoulder _still_ not quite right from that battle all those months ago.

An unpleasant feeling threatens to take hold of her as the crowd's cheers begin to get louder. She refuses to give in, but she has no idea how she's going to get off the defensive.

And then Sejanus manages to catch his shield on hers, and there's an unmistakable intent to kill in his eyes as he suddenly yanks down— _hard_. Pain lances through her shoulder, and her eyes water as her old injury is reaggravated. Before she can regain her footing, his sword is coming at her—blade arcing down toward her neck.

Instinctively, she ducks, practically dropping to her knees as his gladius passes overhead, narrowly missing her. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Quinn propels herself up and takes advantage of the opening—cocking her right arm back before using the full force of her fist to punch Sejanus square in the nose.

The emperor staggers backward, his shield untangling from Quinn's. Gritting her teeth, Quinn braces for the pain as she lifts her parma and swings it with all the strength she can muster—smashing it into Sejanus's right shoulder and causing him to yelp in pain as he loses his weapon.

Quinn is quick to recover it for herself but drops her shield, unable to bear the weight of it any longer. Not hesitating for a moment, she goes on the offensive. The sting in her right forearm has faded, so she puts as much power as she can into her strikes—coming in hard and fast, and putting the emperor on his heels as he scrambles to keep up and block her attacks.

The mob seems to get riled up from the change in the fight's momentum, and Quinn feeds off their energy as she pushes him back. She decides to go low and literally cut him off at the knee, but Sejanus just barely manages to block it with his manica. But he's too slow to react to her next move, and Quinn catches the underside of his jaw with the pommel of her gladius, jerking his head back and sending him reeling. Not giving him a moment to recover, she lifts her right leg and kicks him hard in the stomach. The emperor crashes to the ground, losing his shield in the process.

Panting slightly from pain and exertion, Quinn stands over Sejanus, sword at the ready. Blood drips from his now-broken nose and from the wound in his leg, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy. The reversal in their positions is almost startling. Too often, she has been the one beneath him, but now he's at her mercy.

But then, he does something so unexpected, Quinn can't help but furrow her brow in surprise. His right arm goes up, signaling a reprieve, and the audible gasp in the crowd perfectly reflects her own internal reaction.

Confused, she searches his face and prone form, wondering what he's trying to pull, not trusting him for one moment. As well she shouldn't, she realizes, feeling his lictors moving in from behind.

"Stand down, slave," he orders through gritted, bloodied teeth. "This fight… is over."

Quinn grips her sword tighter and feels a swell of frustration as the crowd roars in displeasure. His words indicate that there is no trickery—he is legitimately calling for a reprieve—and she knows if she attacks him now, his lictors will kill her.

 _So be it_ , she thinks, realizing she has nothing more to lose. After all, Sejanus said it himself. She has no family, no home, no freedom, and her lover has been forbidden from seeing her anymore. And he is the one responsible for that—for all the people she's lost, all the people she's fighting for. She's come this far, and she can't fail them now.

Decision made, she licks her lips and glances up into the emperor's box, eyes locking on to the concerned ones of her lover. Quinn's gaze doesn't linger long, but she tries to convey just how much she loves Rachel, and she hopes her lover can feel it.

Brown eyes widen in fear as Rachel propels herself forward to the edge of the balcony, crying out words Quinn can't decipher through the din of the mob, but it's enough to set her on edge, alerting her to imminent danger. She barely has time to react as she catches sight of a glint of iron. The emperor has staggered to his feet and lunges at her with a pugio in hand, his eyes swirling with rage and jealousy. Quinn's body reacts on instinct, jumping back to avoid the attack, but she doesn't move fast enough, and Sejanus's dagger manages to slice into her left forearm.

She lets out a low hiss of pain, and the mob boos in disapproval at the foul play. The cheap shot stokes the fire low in her belly, and her eyes narrow as she swiftly blocks the next swipe of his pugio, the blade of her gladius smashing down hard on his manica and knocking the weapon from his grip. Stepping on the flat of the blade to keep him from recovering it, she follows with another swipe of her sword, this time cutting deeply into his upper right arm.

He covers the wound with his left hand, but blood seeps through his fingers. Not wanting him to reacquire his weapon, Quinn moves to retrieve it for herself. But just as she's about to pick up the pugio, Sejanus lets out a murderous yell, and with a quickness she isn't anticipating, he lunges for her once more, tackling her to the ground.

Her back hits the sands hard, and combined with the heavy weight of Sejanus atop her, it's enough to momentarily knock the wind out of her. His hands go for her throat, and they're so close, she can see specks of gold in stormy, blue eyes and feel the warmth of his breath and his blood dripping on her face.

Her stomach lurches at the near proximity as she struggles to catch her breath. His hands tighten then, cutting off air to her lungs. "Enjoy Tartarus, slave," he snarls.

Baring her teeth, Quinn musters enough wherewithal to slam the pommel of her gladius into the side of his head. She watches as his eyes roll into the back of his head as his grip on her throat loosens, blessedly allowing her to breathe again, as he loses consciousness.

Intent on ending this once and for all, Quinn rolls his dead weight off her and gets to her feet, picking up his pugio with her left hand just in case. Quinn glares at Sejanus's unconscious body, wishing he would be awake for this, but she's done waiting.

She raises her sword to deliver a kill-shot, but before she can get off an attack, two of his lictors are on her.

Cursing under her breath, she twirls around, blocking the fasces they wield with her gladius. Quinn thrusts her left arm forward, driving the pugio's blade between one lictor's ribs, relieved that her shoulder can handle wielding the small blade—the adrenaline flowing through her making it easier to withstand any pain she'd normally be feeling. She quickly follows by slamming her pugio under the other lictor's sternum and watches as they both fall to the ground.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, Quinn whirls around, sparing a glance at Sejanus's still prone form before facing off against his remaining eight lictors. "Come and get it, boys," she taunts, twirling her gladius and earning a rousing cheer from the crowd—feeding off their energy and getting a much-needed boost.

The lictors briefly look at one another, silently communicating, before one of them nods, seemingly giving some kind of command. Two of them charge her from either side, but Quinn is ready, stepping back and out of their path when they're mere inches from her. They jerk to a halt to avoid colliding with each other, and she takes advantage, quickly drawing her right arm back and slicing into the back of one lictor, right across his spine. He screams in agony as he crumbles to the ground.

Quinn then lunges forward and tries to stab the other lictor, but he knocks her wrist away with the single rod that juts out from the bottom of his fasces. It stings, but Quinn manages to hold on to the pugio and only clenches her teeth in response. He swings his weapon down then, the axe atop the fasces on a path straight to her neck.

She ducks and thrusts her right arm out, impaling him in the gut with her gladius. She yanks it out of his body, and a pained gasp is all that he utters before doubling over and falling to the sands.

Another lictor comes at her from her left, fasces raised to strike. She stays low and sidesteps him as his weapon sails downward, before responding by sweeping her sword across her body and cutting into the back of his knee. And agonized cry escapes his lips as he falls to the ground, clutching his injured leg and writhing in pain.

Quinn takes pity on him and intends to put him out of his misery, but she doesn't have time, as a yet another one of Sejanus's bodyguards is about to attack. She blocks his incoming fasces with her sword, the crack of wood against metal sounding out sharply. He then feints to her left, aiming the axe at her, and she shifts her feet to evade him—but he quickly jerks the lower end of his weapon up, connecting with Quinn's right side.

She releases a sharp breath at the pain that shoots through her ribs, but she doesn't slow, retaliating with an uppercut of her pugio, burying it into his throat. His eyes bulge, and his mouth falls open in a silent cry before he, too, drops.

The remaining four lictors circle her, covering Quinn from all sides as they draw closer. Ever vigilant, her eyes dart between each of them, waiting for one, two, or all of them to make their move first.

Finally, the lictor facing her approaches, swinging his fasces with both hands, aiming for her torso. Reaching across her body with her gladius, she blocks it, but he follows with a kick to her gut, sending her sprawling to the ground.

He stands above her, holding his weapon above his head, clearly intending to drive that axe into her. But before he can do so, she rolls up, her sword pointing straight for him and stabbing him in the thigh. She keeps going, moving to her feet in a low crouch and following with a quick jab of her dagger beneath his breastbone.

Quinn deftly moves aside as he collapses, joining his fallen compatriots.

She whirls around, weapons at the ready as she raises an eyebrow. "Who's next?" she asks.

Two of them glance at each other quickly before turning their attention on to her. They approach her carefully, clearly not wanting to befall the same fate as their fellow bodyguards.

They both charge her simultaneously, but unlike the first pair of lictors she faced, one comes in high and one goes low. Reacting on instinct, Quinn jumps up as she raises her sword to avoid and block the incoming fasces.

But she doesn't jump high enough, and one of the bundles of rods clips her left Achilles. That combined with the downward momentum of the fasces smashing against her gladius, Quinn once again crashes to the ground, landing on her back.

The axe of a fasces comes swinging down, so Quinn rolls over to avoid it. She kicks her left leg out as she goes, her foot colliding with a shin before springing back to her feet. She goes on the offensive immediately, quickly cutting down the lictor who had clipped her heel, the blade of the pugio slicing across his throat before he can even react.

The other lictor once again swings his fasces at her, this time aiming for her side, but Quinn deftly blocks it with her gladius. His right side is left vulnerable, and Quinn hones in, once again using her dagger to dispatch him.

One remains. Quinn recognizes him as the lictor who gave Sejanus the iron he branded her with. He attempts to put on a brave face, but she doesn't miss the fear in his eyes as he holds his fasces with both hands in a defensive posture. She wastes no time, covering the short distance between them and driving the blade of her gladius between his ribs before he can even react. There's no denying the level of satisfaction she feels from taking him down.

The crowd's cheers suddenly increase in volume, and for one, brief moment, Quinn thinks it's because she's single-handedly taken down the emperor's bodyguards. But then she senses movement behind her, and she doesn't even have time to think—only anticipate and react to something she can't see.

Quinn takes a step forward in an effort to create space, but just as she does, the edge of a blade clips her back, cutting through her tunic and into her skin. Sucking in a breath and pushing down the pain, she turns around and crosses the blades of her two weapons defensively, blocking another attack from a now-conscious Sejanus, who is wielding her fallen sword.

She lifts her right leg and kicks down, connecting with his left knee, breaking his stance and causing him to falter. Trying to take advantage, Quinn arcs her gladius down, but he manages to block it with his own. She follows by slamming her left knee up into his right side.

Sejanus lets out a harsh breath as he retreats. Quinn levels him with a hard stare, which, despite the pained and somewhat glassy look in his eyes, he does his best to match.

"Are you going to call for another reprieve?" she taunts.

"No," he seethes. "I'm going to end this—end _you_ —right now." Letting out a war cry, he charges her once more, but by now, Quinn's seen enough of his style to know exactly what's coming.

Their swords clash as she blocks a series of strikes from the emperor, but his injuries certainly have slowed him. Then again, so have hers. But her determination has never once wavered. She lets Sejanus dictate the pace, choosing to stay on the defensive and wait for an opening of some kind.

He delivers several more attacks, which she matches without fail, but then he starts to put even more power behind each one, until finally he manages to overpower Quinn enough to push the blade of her gladius down toward the ground with his own. He grapples her right forearm with his left hand, and Quinn is unable to break it.

But then again, she doesn't need to. She stares Sejanus right in the eye as she drives the pugio she still wields into the side of his neck with all the strength she can muster.

Blue eyes widen in shock and pain, but traces of hatred remain as he grits his blood-stained teeth, struggling to take his final breaths.

"I hope the gods show you the same mercy you showed my family," she says, contempt dripping from her tongue as she twists the blade before letting go of its hilt and stepping back, watching him drop to the sands.

Quinn stares down at his now lifeless body as the crowd is stunned into silence. She blinks, her body still thrumming with adrenaline and anger as she pants slightly from exertion. And then it hits her—really hits her.

She's done it. After nearly two years of hoping for this chance, she's finally gotten her revenge.

Elation and relief swell up, momentarily taking over her anger and pain, at finally avenging her family and tribe—finally taking out the person who has caused her and the people she loves so much suffering, and with his own dagger, no less.

"The emperor is dead!" someone in mob shouts, and it's enough to rouse them from their shock as the sentiment is echoed over and over—the people finally wrapping their heads around what just happened. A growing sense of uncertainty and restlessness starts to take hold in the arena, and it doesn't take long for pandemonium to break out in the stands.

Instantly, Quinn's head snaps up to the emperor's box, wanting to make sure Rachel is okay. Bromidus and Andronicus's lictors are on high alert, although it doesn't seem like Rachel or the emperor's cousin are in any sort of danger. Still, a sense of helplessness at not being able to protect her lover if needed grips her.

Strong hands wrap around her upper arms then, and Quinn instinctively struggles against it and pulls away. "Don't fight," comes the stern warning, Bestia's familiar voice giving Quinn pause. "We need to get you out of here. This is for your own protection, Quinn."

"But-"

"She'll be okay," Bestia replies knowingly before Quinn can even finish. "Let's go."

Quinn reluctantly lets the pair of guards with Bestia take hold of her, but her eyes immediately go back to Rachel, who meets her gaze with unwavering love, but there is no mistaking the uncertainty there.

Before Quinn is guided out of the arena and into the darkness of the underbelly of the Colosseum, she manages to mouth the words "I love you." Emotions running high, she tries to hold on to the image of her lover for as long as she can, the unknown of the future suddenly looming large as it never has before.


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long road, but after three and a half years, I've finally finished this story. It's hard for me to say goodbye to this incarnation of Quinn and Rachel.
> 
> Many thanks to poetzproblem for being an awesome beta reader, trappedinvacancy for the beautiful art over the years, and angelffxmaniac for the encouragement (and the yelling). Also, a big thank you to all you readers for sticking with this story and especially those of you who have commented and shared your thoughts with me. :)
> 
> (Also, I went back through the entire fic and did a light edit and slightly reworked one scene. So if you had previously downloaded this fic, just know that things have changed since then and what's now posted is up-to-date.)

Rachel awakes with a start.

She blinks, her eyes slowly focusing and taking in the sight of an unfamiliar room cast in the dim light of a just breaking dawn. It throws her for a moment until she registers the possessive arm around her waist and the warmth pressed against her back. She relaxes and briefly closes her eyes, a smile gracing her lips as a feeling of contentment washes over her.

Rachel reaches down with her now-bare left hand and tangles it with Quinn's, lifting their joined hands to her mouth and brushing her lips against the back of Quinn's knuckles. Her lover shifts and unconsciously nestles closer, but she doesn't wake, and Rachel smiles again, resting their clasped hands against her heart.

After everything that's happened, it's hard to believe that this is real. Since becoming a widow a month ago, Rachel has been staying at Hostia's countryside villa in Frascati with only the servants to keep her company. But last night, things took an unexpectedly joyous turn when Curtius arrived with Quinn in tow.

Rachel's gaze drifts to the corner of the bedroom, landing on the rudis—the wooden sword symbolizing Quinn's freedom—and that coupled with her sleeping lover beside her confirm that this is, in fact, very real.

Relief doesn't even begin to describe what Rachel feels, but for the first time in almost a year, she finally feels like she can breathe again.

Quinn is safe, Quinn is free, and they are finally together.

But getting to this place was no small feat.

There was so much uncertainty and fear in the wake of Sejanus's death in the arena at Quinn's hand. Not in terms of leadership—that void was quickly filled by Andronicus, who had been in line to be Sejanus's successor. The people of Rome readily accepted him as their new emperor. After all, he had ruled in his cousin's stead while Sejanus had fought in the Gallic War, and he is generally well liked, so any unease amongst the citizens was quickly laid to rest.

No, the uncertainty was almost entirely personal, as Rachel was completely ostracized after what happened in the Colosseum. While she was confident that Quinn could defeat Sejanus in combat, she didn't know what would happen, not trusting the emperor to fight fair. So she threw all caution to the wind and openly displayed her feelings for Quinn—confirming the rumors that she was in love with a slave to be true. As a result, the only patricians who now dare associate with her are Curtius and Hostia. Her fathers, embarrassed and ashamed, have done their best to distance themselves.

It hurt, and it still hurts, but acceptance in the eyes of her family and fellow patricians was far from her primary concern. She feared what would happen to Quinn after killing the emperor. Some of Sejanus's supporters wanted her put to death, but ultimately it was Andronicus's call to make. Yet despite Curtius's assurances that Andronicus wouldn't give in to a vocal minority, Rachel feared that he would want to avenge his cousin's death regardless of what anyone else had to say about it.

But that didn't happen. To Rachel's surprise, Andronicus not only ignored the demands for Quinn's execution, but he pardoned her of her _ad ludum_ sentence. Rachel knows some of it had to do with Andronicus being "the perfect puppet" that Curtius once called him and also a slave to the mob, who wanted Quinn to live. But Rachel also suspects Curtius had a personal hand in influencing Andronicus's decision. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if he bribed the new emperor in some way.

Still, she's thanked every god she can think of, although she's unable to truly take back every curse she's silently sent their way in the past.

How could she after everything she and Quinn— _especially_ Quinn—have had to endure?

Rachel tightens her hold on Quinn's hand and raises it once more to press another kiss to the back of her hand. "I'm never letting you go," she promises softly. _Gods, I love you so much_ , she finishes silently, once again closing her eyes.

This time Quinn stirs. "Please don't," she murmurs.

Rachel's brow furrows in confusion, and she shifts then, rolling over to face her lover. "Please don't what?" she asks, gazing into sleepy, hazel eyes.

A pink tongue wets soft lips as those eyes search hers. "Please don't let me go."

"I won't," Rachel replies before pressing a loving kiss to Quinn's lips. "How could I?" she continues, running her fingers through blonde hair and looking intently into her lover's eyes once more. "I meant it when I said I need you, Quinn. I love you more than anything on this earth."

Quinn's mouth curves up into a soft smile, and her eyes shine with happiness. "I love you too." She leans in then, capturing Rachel's lips in a gentle yet insistent kiss.

Butterflies erupt in Rachel's stomach as she smiles against Quinn's mouth. She's never felt so content before, and she hardly knows what to do with herself.

Long moments later, Quinn breaks their kiss, and as eager as Rachel is to chase her lover's mouth and pick up where they left off last night, one look into hazel eyes tells her to wait. They hadn't talked much the night before, too caught up in each other after finally reuniting—overjoyed and celebrating Quinn's freedom by making love until they were too exhausted to continue.

"Am I dreaming?" Quinn asks, looking at Rachel with nothing short of wonder.

"You're not dreaming, Quinn," Rachel assures her. "You're awake, and this?" she continues, resting her palm against a soft cheek. "This is real."

Quinn briefly closes her eyes. "I thought I'd never see you again," she confesses quietly before cracking them open to gaze at Rachel once more. "Even though I fought within the rules of the Games, I thought I was going to be executed after killing Sejanus. But I was okay with that, because I knew you were finally free of him."

Rachel's heart lurches at Quinn's words. All she had ever tried to do was keep Quinn safe, but she knows there were so many times she could have lost Quinn forever. "Quinn, I…" she falters, not knowing how to say what she's feeling. "I don't know what I did to find someone as selfless as you, but… gods. I treasure you. And I will treasure you until my dying breath."

"And I you. You…" Quinn trails off then, overcome with emotion. She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against Rachel's as she draws her in closer. "Gods, I love you so much."

Rachel's eyes drift shut, soaking in Quinn's words and her touch.

Her lips are quickly caught in a heated kiss, and Rachel shivers, feeling the emotion her lover pours into it. There's a familiar urgency there, and as strong arms tighten their hold around her, she quickly finds herself surrendering to Quinn.

Quinn wastes no time shifting her weight and rolling Rachel onto her back and pressing her into the mattress of their bed, her lips never breaking from Rachel's as a strong thigh slides between her legs.

A soft gasp escapes Rachel's lips as small hands roam across Quinn's scarred back, and for a brief moment, she flashes back to that moment in the arena when Sejanus's lictors mercilessly whipped her lover. Tears spring to her eyes, but soon Quinn's mouth is on her neck, suckling her pulse point. She lets out a shuddering breath, but the sharp nip against her collarbone reminds her that Quinn is still here, and it stops her tears from falling.

Despite everything, Quinn has survived.

And it's her mouth and her hands giving Rachel indescribable pleasure. And there is no longer anything to fear. Sejanus is gone, Quinn is free, and _this_ —this is reality now.

"Please," Rachel pleads as Quinn's warm tongue travels down between her breasts, and she arcs up, hoping her lover will take mercy on her.

And she does.

Quinn presses open mouth kisses along her chest until she reaches Rachel's left breast, teasing her nipple with her tongue before lightly biting down as her left hand squeezes Rachel's right hip.

Brown eyes flutter open and glance down, locking on to hazel that stare up at her with so much intensity, it makes her breath catch in her throat. Quinn takes Rachel's nipple into her mouth and sucks, causing Rachel to buck up into her lover's body, aching for some kind of relief.

Slender fingers soon find their way from Rachel's hip to the apex of her thighs, and even though Rachel is sore from last night, she eagerly parts her legs. Quinn pushes two fingers inside her, and she gasps—the pleasure of her lover's touch overriding any discomfort.

Those fingers begin to pump, slow and steady, and Quinn's mouth continues to move lower, leaving a trail of soft bites and open mouth kisses along Rachel's belly.

Rachel laces her fingers in Quinn's hair then, gently encouraging her lover even lower, eager for that talented mouth to join skilled fingers. Never breaking eye contact, Quinn obeys Rachel's silent direction, and soon her lips are wrapped around that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Quinn picks up the speed of her thrusts as she begins to suck, and Rachel cants her hips, toes curling and fingers digging into blonde hair, drawing Quinn impossibly closer as she sends Rachel to the furthest heights of pleasure.

It feels like she's died and gone to Elysium.

Her body shakes with aftershocks, and Quinn rides them out with her, slowing her movements and prolonging Rachel's pleasure.

Quinn then gently removes her slick fingers from inside Rachel and kisses her way up Rachel's torso before resting her chin against her chest, seemingly content to watch Rachel come down from her high.

"I could get used to waking up like this every morning," Rachel says once she catches her breath and comes back to her body.

"I wouldn't mind that one bit," Quinn replies with a sated smile. Her fingers lightly play with the triple-spiral pendant resting against Rachel's throat. "This might sound silly, but I'm so happy you still wear this."

"I haven't taken it off since you gave it to me," she confesses. "It made me feel safe and protected. It made me feel loved. It still makes me feel that way."

A soft knock at the doorframe interrupts the moment.

Rachel jumps at the sound, practically clinging to Quinn, but she doesn't miss the way hazel eyes cut toward the intrusion.

A light chuckle sounds from the doorway. "Relax, sweet cheeks, it's just me."

The sound of Hostia's voice does, in fact, relax her, although she's a little surprised she's here, even though this is her countryside villa. Rachel turns her head look at their host. "Hostia, hi. When did you get here?"

"Last night, shortly after Curtius did. He told me he was coming with a surprise for you. Obviously, I didn't want to interrupt anything," she replies with a hint of amusement, although she has the grace not to actually look at their still naked bodies.

"I see," Rachel says, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

"Anyway, I wanted to see if you two were interested in breakfast," Hostia continues with a smirk. "Also, Curtius is still here, and we should talk before he leaves this afternoon. Figure out some things about your next steps. My husband is still in the dark about you being here, and we should keep it that way by getting you both on your way. You can meet us in the dining room whenever you're ready."

Rachel pouts as Hostia lets go of the curtain of the bedroom doorway and walks away. She really doesn't want to get out of this bed any time soon now that she has Quinn in it. But she supposes there will be plenty of time for more intimacy later, and the thought immediately has her pout transforming into a smile.

Quinn looks at her curiously. "What are you thinking?"

"For once, we have time," she explains, not bothering to tamp down on the excitement that comes from that realization. "No more of Silvanus's time limits, no more hiding from my fathers or anyone else. For the first time, we don't have to worry about our end."

"It's still so hard to believe," Quinn says with a disbelieving shake of her head. "This time yesterday, I was still a slave."

"And now you're free," Rachel replies, her smile growing. "More than anything, that's what I wanted for you."

"I know," she confirms, offering a smile of her own. "It's one of the reasons I fell for you. You cared about me in a way that no one else did."

"I still do, you know," Rachel says. "Care about you. And I always will."

"Keep talking like that, and I'll never let you out of this bed," Quinn threatens playfully, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness.

Rachel groans. "As much as I'm tempted to, we really should go talk with Curtius and Hostia. Staying here long-term isn't an option, so we need to figure out where to go from here."

"Okay," she agrees with a small nod. "But I plan on thoroughly ravishing you again later." She presses one last kiss to Rachel's lips, and that combined with Quinn's promise sends a new surge of arousal through her. Quinn slowly breaks their kiss before extracting herself from Rachel's embrace and pushing herself out of bed.

Rachel follows suit and tries to once again tamp down on her arousal as she reaches for her fascia. She pauses and watches Quinn get dressed—first fastening her loincloth before pulling her tunic overhead, covering the worst of her scars. Brown eyes trace the stigmata on the backs of her lover's hands, and Rachel frowns slightly. Quinn may be free, but she still bears the marks of a slave.

"Do you need help with that?" Quinn asks, drawing Rachel's attention back to her lover's face, and she realizes Quinn must have noticed her staring.

"Sure," she replies, handing her fascia to Quinn, not wanting to pass up a chance to maintain a close physical connection with her lover. She turns around, lifting her arms and hair up. "What did Silvanus have to say about you going free?" she asks as Quinn begins to wrap the cloth around her chest.

"It's hard to tell with her, but I think she was happy about it," Quinn replies, causing Rachel's eyebrows to rise in surprise. "She said something about having reached the pinnacle of her profession and needing a new challenge," she further explains as finishes fastening Rachel's fascia. "She's dissolving the ludus, and all of my friends are going free."

"Are you serious?" Rachel asks, turning around to look at Quinn once more.

Her lover nods, handing Rachel her stola. "I was the only one with an _ad ludum_ sentence," she explains as Rachel finishes getting dressed. "Britt actually voluntarily became a gladiatrix, and the other girls were slaves Silvanus purchased. So she could have freed them at any time, or sold them, which I'm so grateful didn't happen. I know Makelesi, Sukie, and Harmonia want to go back to Greece. And Saoirse will follow Britt's lead. Unlike the rest of us, she's never known what it's like to be free. I think they'll probably stay on with Silvanus for awhile though, and work for her like Bestia has."

"And what about you?" Rachel asks, gazing at Quinn intently. "What do you want to do now that you're free?"

"I'm not sure," Quinn replies, looking thoughtful. "I avenged my family's deaths, but I can't bring them back, and I can't go home. But I'm starting to accept the fact that I can't change the past, and you're the reason I can." A warm hand encases Rachel's as Quinn gazes at her, those beautiful, hazel eyes shining with so much love and hopefulness. "I'm ready to let go and start the future—with you."

"I'm ready for that too," Rachel agrees, feeling a pleasant warmth from Quinn's words. "I can't think of anything more perfect. Whatever we decide to do, I want us to do it together."

And as they walk together hand-in-hand out onto the peristyle, Rachel can't help but think back to their first night together. She never imagined then that she would end up here—a widow to the emperor and in love with an enemy of Rome turned slave turned freedwoman. Ostracized by her fellow patricians and the object of their scorn. But even though her reputation is in tatters, Rachel has never felt more whole.

After being adrift for so long, she finally feels anchored—settled. No matter where the future takes her, she knows that so long as she's with Quinn, she'll be home.


End file.
